He had just come home from work, his tie loosened and the weariness of a long day etched across his face. But the scene before him seemed to erase any trace of fatigue, replacing it with horror and disbelief.
“Emily!” he shouted, rushing forward to kneel beside me, his eyes wide and frantic as they took in the mess—the soup, the scorching redness creeping up my chest, and the terror in my eyes.
Patricia dropped the pot with a clatter that seemed to echo in the sudden silence. “I didn’t mean to—” she stammered, but her voice was drowned out by the sound of my husband calling for an ambulance, his hands shaking as he dialed.
