The water in the kitchen sink ran ice cold, splashing against the worn ceramic basin as Martha scrubbed the endless stack of dinner plates.
Martha: Stop wasting time staring at the window, Emma. Those dishes aren't going to wash themselves.
Emma: I'm not wasting time, Grandma. My chest just feels really tight right now.
Martha: That is just pure laziness and you know it. Stop pretending to get out of chores!
Emma: I'm really not pretending. I can barely catch my breath.
Martha: I raised three children on this ranch without a single complaint, and you throw a tantrum over a few plates.
Emma gripped the edge of the laminate counter, her knuckles turning bone white as her breathing turned shallow and frantic.
Emma: Everything is spinning... I can't see straight.
Martha: Save the dramatics for someone who actually believes your excuses.
Emma: Please... something is wrong.
Martha dropped a ceramic bowl back into the suds with an irritated sigh, her patience wearing completely thin.
Martha: I am sick of your constant avoidance tactics, Emma.
Emma: Grandma, catch me—
Martha turned around with a furious scowl, her hand raised high to teach the young girl a harsh lesson about respect.
Martha: Stop pretending to get out of chores!
A loud slap echoed sharply through the kitchen, followed instantly by a sharp gasp as Emma stumbled backward.
Emma's eyes fluttered closed as the dizziness overwhelmed her senses completely.
Will anyone reach her before the shattered glass seals her tragic fate on the cold kitchen floor?