"Greta, please. It means so much to me. To us," he urged, tugging forcefully.
"No, damn you. It's mine and I'm taking it with me."
"Where?" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Just where the hell do you think you're going?" His neck was straining, and his knuckles were white around the bowl's rim.
"To France!" she cried. Her eyes glistened in the bright white light. "With Jean-Pierre."
He burst with laughter, and shot his face closer to hers, over the bowl. "The horse trainer? Oh, that's good, Greta. That's real good! The horse trainer! So I'm not the only one sleeping with the staff, am I?"
Her fingers hurt, and she could barely hold on any longer.
"Matthew, please," she begged, afraid. She was painfully close to letting go, and with this awareness came another, deeper understanding. That were it not for her missing finger, she would have possessed the strength to hold on tighter and harder and longer - No, that was not it, she realized with a cry, her understanding now complete. The truth was, was were it not for her missing finger, none of this would have ever happened. Tears streamed down her face and she begged him to please let her have her bowl.
"Oh Greta," Matthew said with disgust, "you're so pathetic."
He released his grip on the bowl…and the misfortune that directly followed his letting go lasted only seconds.
With great force the bowl crashed into Greta's chest and propelled her backward.