My mother curled her lip. "See that? They haven't even gotten started, and your aunt's already scrambling for excuses to stall us."
Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she talked.
[Irene is registering her marriage with Joel Lambert tomorrow. You two better pick up the pace.]
My head exploded.
Every ounce of reason I had was swallowed whole by the fury rising from my gut.
"Mom, what the hell are you talking about?"
"When did I ever say I was registering a marriage with Joel Lambert?"
She shot to her feet.
"I already accepted his betrothal gift. You ate the dinner tonight, you met the relatives—what, you're going to back out now?"
"You're going to register that marriage tomorrow. If you don't, I'll die right here in front of you. You might not care about your reputation, but I care about mine."
Before I could even react, she snatched the fruit knife off the table and drove it toward her own body.
I lunged for it—
In the scramble, the blade plunged into my lower abdomen.
A dull, tearing pain ripped through me. I couldn't breathe.
I pressed both hands against the wound. Blood seeped between my fingers, soaking through my dress in seconds.