The room went very still.
And then, her palm connected with my face so hard that my head snapped sideways. The sound of it bounced off every wall in the room, and the men closest to us stopped moving for exactly one second before they decided, collectively, that they hadn't seen anything.
The side of my face burned. I pressed my hand to it slowly and turned back to face her.
"You ungrateful little brat." Her voice was low and controlled and all the more terrible for it. "You are lucky to still be standing in this house. Lucky to still be standing at all. Don't you ever—" she stepped closer, "ever speak to me in that manner again."
I said nothing.
Because what was there to say? What words existed that were large enough for this specific moment, for standing in my parents' house while i
