Domestic Violence

Tessa stared at the ceiling until the plaster blurred into a pale, forgiving sky. The room around her felt unreal, the soft drape of the curtains, the expensive rug, the photographs framed just so on the dresser, all of it seemed like props on a stage for a life she did not recognize as her own.

Her palms were damp; her breath came in shallow bursts. The weight settling on her chest wasn’t grief alone. It was bewilderment, a furious, hollowed out sort of sorrow that left ...