Diane waved her hand dismissively. “I’m speaking to my son’s wife, not you.”
I forced my voice to stay steady. “Please leave. I’m not doing this today.”
That only made her louder.
“Oh, now you have boundaries?” she snapped. “You didn’t have boundaries when you pulled Ryan away from his family, spent his money, and turned him into someone I barely recognize.”
Ryan muttered, “Mom, stop,” but it was weak, automatic—almost meaningless.
Diane leaned closer. “Do you know what this family thinks of you, Emily? They think you are dramatic, manipulative, and lazy.”
My heart monitor spiked, the electronic beeps speeding up. My mother stood, ready to call a nurse. My father stayed still, jaw tightening.
“Get out,” I said.
Then Diane leaned in, hissing, “You are not the victim here.”
Before anyone could react, she slapped me across the face.
The sound cracked through the room. My mother screamed. Ryan rushed forward too late. Pain flared across my cheek, hot and humiliating. I couldn’t even breathe for a moment. Salt and metal filled my mouth.
And then I heard my father’s voice—low, controlled, more terrifying than any shout.
He stepped between me and Diane, locked eyes with her, and said, “You just made the biggest mistake of your life.”
