“911, what is your emergency?”
The operator’s voice was calm, a lifeline in the chaotic room.
“My name is Elena Vance,” I said, my voice steady despite the blood soaking the napkin. “I am at 4202 Maple Drive. I have been physically assaulted. I have a head wound that is bleeding profusely. There are two intruders in my home who are refusing to leave.”
Mark let out a bark of incredulous laughter. “Intruders? Are you insane?”
He stepped toward me, looming over where I sat on the floor. “Hang up the phone, Elena. Stop acting crazy.”
“Ma’am, are you safe?” the operator asked.
“For the moment,” I said. “Please send officers immediately. And an ambulance.”
I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the table. I used the table leg to pull myself up. I swayed, dizzy, but I locked my knees and stood my ground.
“You really did it now,” Mark shook his head, looking at his mother. “She called the cops. Can you believe this psycho?”
“She needs to be committed,” Agnes sniffed, dabbing at her mouth. “Calling the police on her own husband in his own house. Tell them to leave when they get here, Mark. Tell them she slipped.”
“This isn’t your house, Mark,” I said. The blood was dripping onto the collar of my dress now.
“Oh, shut up,” Mark rolled his eyes. “My mom saved this house when my business went under. Everyone knows that. It’s her house; she just lets us live here.”
“Is that what she told you?” I asked.
I walked over to the sideboard, where I kept the mail. Underneath a stack of Christmas cards, there was a blue file folder. I had brought it downstairs yesterday, anticipating a fight over finances, but I never expected this.
I threw the folder onto the dining table. It landed right on top of the roasted turkey, the corner digging into the meat.
“Open it,” I commanded.
“I’m not playing your games,” Mark said.
“Open it!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat, raw and primal.
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