Gabriel had made too many promises. Each time, I thought that he would change. He didn’t. The apologies soon stopped. The blame landed straight in my corner. It all became so normal that I’d stopped flinching at the sound of my own name.
I thought I could help him, or heal him, but you couldn’t help someone who was this far gone. I’d read enough of my mother’s self-help books to know that much. You couldn’t pour yourself empty into someone and call it love.
It wasn’t even new. That was the worst part.
He’d cut me off from my family by moving away for his job. Somewhere far enough that dropping in wasn’t possible and calling felt like reporting in. He didn’t want me to work—what’s the point, I earn enough for both of us—said so pleasantly the first time that I’d almost missed what it meant. I had no friends here. Not real ones. Just the wives of his colleagues who smiled with their mouths and watched with their eyes. He did whatever he wanted. Came home when he felt like it, smelling like wherever he’d been, and expected warmth.
Our marriage was a joke.
The punchline just wasn’t funny anymore.
I stared at the rings. Still too scared to remove them. Not because I loved him—I wasn’t sure I recognised that feeling anymore when it came to Gabriel—but because taking them off meant deciding. And deciding meant everything that came after.
The bathroom floor stayed cold beneath my feet.
He’d stopped shouting.
That wasn’t always better.
???
I waited until it was quiet. The front door hadn’t slammed—which wasn’t a good sign for me.
He had my phone. That was the first thing he always took. I winced thinking about the one time I’d called the police. He’d sobered up by the time they came, straightened his collar, spoken in that measured reasonable voice he kept for other people. Somehow I’d ended up being the one at fault. I still didn’t entirely understand how he’d managed that.
The heavy lock clicked so loud that I thought my heart would explode. I waited, pressing my ear to the door, barely breathing.
Nothing.
I pushed the handle down and stepped onto the wooden floor.
I didn’t take anything. No bag, no shoes, no keys. There was no time for thinking like that. Socks discarded for momentum.
Bare feet, I ran towards the front door.
I don’t know what room he came out of.
His fist took me out of commission before I even registered he was there. The floor came up fast and hard and my vision went white at the edges. I lay there, cheek against the cold wood, the diamond on my finger catching the hallway light like nothing had happened.
That wasn’t the first time either.
I crumpled inward and waited for the blows to begin.
???
He was the only person within the vicinity who might be able to help. Even as I stood in front of the obscenely large manor, I knew what lay beyond those walls. A little under two years ago, I came here not to be welcomed into the family but to sign a prenuptial agreement. I remembered thinking at the time that it was a strange way to begin a marriage. I understood it better now.
I’d stood too long.
Raindrops hit my face.
A cold reminder of why I was here.
I walked past the fountain and climbed the few stone steps before I rang the doorbell. I glanced at the mature trees surrounding his home. It was in a good location—close enough to the city to commute, but secluded enough to avoid humanity. The kind of house that didn’t need to announce itself. The kind of house that had always been here and intended to remain.
The door opened.
The older man stared at my face. The professional blankness of someone trained not to react slipped—just slightly—before he recovered.
