“Once you calm down, we can finish preparing dinner.”
In the basement, Ethan found an old metal chain.
I still remember the sound it made when he dragged it across the floor.
“What are you doing?”
He didn't answer.
He attached one end to the heavy iron frame of the workbench.
Then he locked the other end around my ankle.
I stared at him.
“You can't be serious.”
He put the key in his pocket.
“You're not going anywhere until Thanksgiving is over.”
I couldn't believe what was happening.
My husband had just chained me inside our own house because he wanted me to cook dinner.
Patricia came downstairs carrying a legal pad.
She handed it to me.
“Turkey. Stuffing. Mashed potatoes. Green beans. Carrots. Rolls. Two pies.”
I looked at the list.
