The car slammed to a halt.
“Mom, are you all right?” the girl leaped forward, rubbing her stinging face.
“Get back in your seat,” she said it in a way that froze her in place. “Give me a paper napkin,” she took it from her husband and wiped the blood from her mouth. The napkin grew red. She carefully placed it beneath the windscreen. A second one grew red too. She put it next to the first one. Then a third. The bloody napkins were being lined up next to each other in such a ceremonious way they seemed to be the testimonies of a sacrifice of which only she was aware. Her husband and daughter watched, hypnotized. She stopped bleeding. She placed a fourth napkin, then turned to her husband.
“Why can’t you force your father to leave his damn house and move to the city? I’m not like those ot
