I turned my head to grab my purse from the sideboard.

The movement saved my face, but it left my temple completely exposed.

I heard the rush of air before I felt the impact.

The heavy glass bottle struck the left side of my head with a sickening, wet thud.

The impact sent a white-hot flash of pain through my skull.

I fell sideways, my shoulder slamming into the sideboard, sending brass candlesticks clattering to the floor.

Warm liquid began to pour down my cheek and into my collar.

For a second, I thought it was the red wine.

Then the metallic smell of blood hit my nose, thick and unmistakable.

My vision blurred, the dining room spinning into a vortex of dark wood and white linen.

“Oh my god, Patricia,” Daniel gasped, his voice sounding like it was underwater.

“She slipped,” Uncle Michael’s voice was suddenly sharp, cold, and clear.

He stepped over to Patricia, taking the bottle from her trembling hand.

“She tripped on the rug and hit the sideboard,” Uncle Michael said, looking directly at Daniel.

“Yes,” Patricia breathed, her face pale but her eyes wide with a frantic sort of triumph. “She fell.”

I pressed my hand to my temple, feeling the deep, jagged tear in my skin.

My fingers sank into the swelling, and the pain made me gasp for breath.

I looked up at my brother, Daniel, but he looked away, staring at the floorboards.

I pulled myself up using the edge of the sideboard, my knees shaking.

“Do not call an ambulance,” Uncle Michael said, his hand reaching for his phone.

“I am going to County General,” I whispered, my voice raspy and thick.

I stumbled toward the front door, the hallway stretching out like an endless tunnel.

Behind me, the dining room was silent except for the sound of the rain outside.