Red haze clouded my vision. I stepped forward and slapped her across the face.
*Smack!*
"What are you doing?!"
Thomas shoved me. Hard.
My lower back slammed into the door handle. Pain exploded in my spine and shot through my lower abdomen like a lightning bolt.
I doubled over, gasping, but Thomas didn't even look at me. His hands were cupping Hazel's face, examining her cheek.
"Are you okay? I'll take you to the hospital."
"It's my fault," Hazel sobbed. "I made Mrs. Gilbert misunderstand. She has every right to hit me..."
The commotion drew the others. The door pushed open, revealing the crowd of students and my mother-in-law.
"Elise!" my mother-in-law screeched. "Have you lost your mind? Hazel is a good girl—she brought gifts, she helped out!"
"Your 'good girl' is a mistress seducing a married man," I spat, clutching my stomach.
My mother-in-law took one look at the scene—the disheveled clothes, the tension—and knew exactly what had happened.
Yet she sneered.
"If you can't bear children or keep a man satisfied, don't blame others for stepping up."
Thomas turned to the students, his face a mask of tragic patience. "My wife has severe depression. Her delusions have been getting worse lately. She's hallucinating affairs."
Shock rooted me to the spot.
The man I had loved for twelve years was standing there, telling the world I was insane.
"Even so, violence isn't the answer..." a student muttered.
"Hazel is so pitiful. Just because she's pretty, she gets targeted."
"Mrs. Gilbert, you should apologize."
The accusations rained down. I felt dizzy.
Thomas's gaze was cold, fearless. He knew that if I made a scene, no one would believe the "crazy" housewife over the esteemed Professor.
He let out a long, weary sigh. "Apologize to Hazel, Elise. Do that, and we'll forget this ever happened."
He and his mother each grabbed a shoulder, forcing me down.
They wanted me to kneel.
I looked at Thomas's hands on me.
Years ago, those hands had taken a slap from my father to protect me. He had promised to hold up the sky for me.
Now those same hands were forcing me to my knees to apologize to his mistress, grinding my dignity into the dust.
"Get your filthy hands off me!" I roared, wrenching myself free. "You disgust me!"
"You want me to apologize to a whore? Keep dreaming!"
Silence.