When my husband h:it me, my parents saw the b:ruise — said nothing, and walked away. He smirked from his chair, beer in hand: “Polite little family you’ve got.”

My skin stung. My eye watered, though not from sorrow anymore.

“No,” I answered.

That made him laugh.

“You should. Your own parents abandoned you.” He raised the bottle toward me. “Nobody’s coming, Clara.”

I looked past him toward the mirror in the hallway. My reflection appeared small and motionless beneath the dim light. A wife with a torn blouse. A continue reading …