“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

Jessica jumped up with an expression of exaggerated surprise and looked at me accusatorially. She shouted in a high-pitched tone that I hadn’t placed the plate correctly and that it had slipped from her hands, but I was sure I had handed it to her properly. Mark reacted instantly. Instead of asking what had happened or worrying that someone might get cut by the ceramic shards, he scolded me in front of everyone. He berated me with harsh words, calling me careless and incapable of serving the guests properly. My face flushed, a mixture of shame and pain. The tears I had been barely holding back welled up again. I wanted to defend myself and say that Jessica had dropped it, but my courage vanished under Mark’s withering glare.