She looked around the room and then back at the table again. She wondered if she had the strength to flip it over because she already knew she had the rage. She placed her hand on a corner of it and gave it a little tug. “Heavy,” she mumbled to herself. She heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. She knew it was Paul because of how deliberate each step was. He’d come in the dining room and sit at the head of the table and watch her, like her wretchedness brought him joy. He might even have the nerve to touch her or stick his tongue where it had no business being. She wished she
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