Chapter 7 - The Mark of the Beast
"Mom... God..." Arthur whispered, his hands trembling as he held her fragile frame. As his mother shifted her weight to cling tighter to her son, the loose sleeve of her light blue pajamas slipped upward, exposing her frail, pale arm to the harsh interior lighting. Arthur’s breath caught sharply in his throat. Right beneath her elbow was a massive, dark purple bruise. It was an ugly, mottled stain of coagulated blood beneath the thin, papery skin, the undeniable shape of a cruel, forceful, and agonizing grip. It was not the kind of bruise that came from an accidental bump; it was the deliberate, agonizing mark of systematic physical abuse. Arthur gently traced the air just above the injury, his heart breaking into a million irreparable pieces. While he had been out building an empire to provide them with this luxurious life, the woman he married had transformed his home into a private, inescapable torture chamber for the woman who had given him life.
