Chapter 2 - THE CURRENCY OF BRUISES
The young man crossed his arms over his chest.
The black fabric of his suit jacket strained against his shoulders.
He looked down at his wife with cold, empty eyes that had once promised a lifetime of protection.
Now, those eyes looked at her the way a merchant looks at a broken vase that can no longer be returned to the shelf.
The pregnant woman’s chest heaved in short, jagged gasps.
She pressed her spine harder against the wooden post, trying to find a solid anchor in a room made entirely of quicksand.
If I press hard enough, the wood will push back, her mind reasoned in a frantic, child-like loop.
If the wood pushes back, it means I am still standing.
If I fall, the baby falls with me.
She dropped her gaze to the polished floor between them.
She saw the reflection of the crystal chandelier twisting across the dark wood like a shattered spiderweb.
She remembered the dinner an hour ago.
She remembered how the old woman had dropped a porcelain spoon on purpose, pointing at the floor and telling her to crawl and pick it up.
She remembered her husband laughing.
A light, breezy laugh that told her she was never a wife at all.
She was just an expensive piece of furniture purchased to fill an empty room in his mother’s estate.
The silence that followed the old woman's decree was absolute.
Even the distant hum of the mansion's climate control system seemed to fade away.
The young man shifted his weight.
His leather shoes squeaked against the floorboards.
He reached out, his fingers curling roughly into the grey satin material near her collarbone.
He shook her slightly, his face twisting into an ugly snarl.
"You're a guest in this family," he hissed, his breath smelling of expensive scotch and bitter malice.
"Act like one."
The woman did not blink.
She stared straight into the dark pupils of the man she had trusted with her entire life.
She didn't try to pull away from his grip.
She let the silk fabric tear slightly under his tightening fist.
She knew that fabric could be replaced.
She knew that bruises faded into yellow, then green, then nothing at all.
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But the hollow space where her heart used to be felt like it had been carved out with a rusted spoon.
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