“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.

He said loudly a phrase I will never forget in my life. Crying wouldn’t bring her back. He ordered me to start serving his guests immediately to prepare the best meal and not to disappoint them with my funeral face. Mark pushed me and I stumbled backward nearly falling against the wall. He threw the grocery bags at me which contained raw meat, vegetables, spices, and several bottles of wine. Some of the contents spilled out, chicken, vegetables, seasonings, and several bottles of drinks. He gave me an ultimatum. In two hours he wanted every trace of morning to have disappeared from the house, the table to be filled with delicacies, and me to be presentable to receive the guests.