It started with fries.
That fateful day, Albert, my husband, had decided he wanted homemade fries with his steak. But he left the stove splattered and somehow managed to drip grease all across the kitchen floor without noticing or caring.
“Albert, can you clean this up before someone slips?” I asked.
He barely looked away from his phone. “I’ll get to it.”
He never did.
About an hour later, I walked back into the kitchen to grab some water. The second my foot touched the slick spot near the counter, everything went out from under me Pain exploded through my leg so fast it knocked the air out of me. I screamed as my leg twisted awkwardly when I hit the floor. The first thing I did was grab my stomach.
