e beautiful furniture, the expensive art on the walls, the panoramic city views-it all fel

behind closed doors. The charming, attentive man from our courtship was gone, replaced by someone cold, controlling

e morning, not looking up from his newspaper. "Make sure

e effort. I cooked his mother's favorite meal, my stomach churning with anxiety. I put on the blue dress, a garmen

ower arrangement to the seasoning on the roast chicken. She spoke to me as if I weren'

lips. "She's doing so well. Her latest concert was a massive success. Su

age. He just smiled, a tight, noncommittal expression. "Sarah's a g

g ring on my finger felt heavy and cold, a shackle, not a symbol of lo

rtment was deafening. I started to clear the

voice sharp. "The maid wi

I said, my voice tight. "I

be Mrs. Mark Thompson. To look pretty, to smile at my business partners, and to keep

negotiated a business deal. The last of my fragile hope

aid, my voice rising. "This is my life

r. He walked over to me, his presence looming and intimid

have everything a woman could want. A beautiful home, money, security. I gave you t

ing my eyes. "For what? For destroying

e dangerously low. "It's your word against mine. And who do you think they'

ng myself on the edge of the dining table. He straightened his tie, hi

e said, turning to leave the

ng with a mixture of fear and fury. He w

e nightlight. The physical therapist Mark had hired was working wonders. Alex was getting stronger

the humiliation, the coldness, the constant threat that hung

It wasn't just a shackle. It was a weapon. Being Mrs. Mark Thompson gave me access to h

was turning into resolve. The grief was turning into a burning need for justice. I would play his game. I