𝗦𝗔𝗬 𝗬𝗘𝗦 𝗜𝗙 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 Days of Our Lives #DOOL

At dinner, my husband poured wine on me while my daughter-in-law and granddaughter laughed. I simply dried my face and left the room. Just ten minutes later, the front gate opened, and three men in suits walked into the house.
My name is Dorothy, I’m seventy-one, and for forty-three years, I learned that my role was to maintain the peace, even if it meant sacrificing pieces of myself.
Dinner was a monologue, starring my daughter-in-law, Lisa. Her promotion, her kitchen renovation. My husband, Frank, began his usual litany of complaints: the house was too cold, the meat was too dry.
“Mom always tries so hard,” Lisa chimed in with her signature laugh—a sound that mimicked sympathy but dripped with condescension. “It’s sweet, really. Very… traditional.”
Traditional. Her word for me. Irrelevant.
That’s when I made my mistake. I tried to bridge the gap. “What’s so funny?” I asked, as they giggled at something on my granddaughter’s phone.
Frank turned to me, his face a mask of weary impatience. “Dorothy, you wouldn’t get it. It’s a generational thing.”
“Try me,” I said quietly.
That’s when Frank’s hand closed around his wine glass. He didn’t just tip it. He made a show of it. He raised the glass, his eyes locking on mine, and then inverted it over my head with a slow, deliberate grace.
The dark red wine cascaded over my hair, my face, my cream-colored blouse.
The absolute silence was shattered by Lisa’s high, sharp peel of laughter. My granddaughter, Katie, joined in. Even Frank chuckled.
Without a word, I took my linen napkin and calmly, deliberately, wiped the wine from my face. I folded the stained cloth and placed it beside my plate. Then I stood.
“Dorothy, oh my god,” Lisa managed between gasps of laughter. “You should see your face.”
I retrieved my purse and my coat. I stepped out into the cool evening air. Ten minutes later, I was sitting in my car in a grocery store parking lot when my phone rang. It was Frank. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I thought he was calling to apologize.
His voice was a frantic, panicked whisper. “Dorothy, where are you? You need to come home. Now. There are men here… in suits. They say they’re your lawyers. They’re talking about asset division… community property… Dorothy, what the hell is going on?” Watch: [in comment] – Made with AI