"Shut up!" David's voice echoes around the kitchen like a shrieking banshee in your ear, your thoughts grinding to a halt as soon as his words boom in the air around you. It all turns to static, your ears ringing, the edges of your vision going black. Your hands shake as they hover over your ears, a split-second too late to prevent his piercing voice from shattering your eardrums. You've never heard him yell so loud. Arguments weren't rare- all couples got into arguments- but he had never yelled so loud at you before. It makes your heart race like a jackrabbit.

You make the mistake of glancing over at him. Your eyes widen, lips parted, a stricken look on your face. Your hands tremble as they slowly lowered away from your ears.

He's holding a knife in a white-knuckled grip. His face is placid, but tense with anger. You can see it burning behind his eyes, which usually held love for you. Your heart is in your stomach, nausea ripping through you, your knees growing weak. Your eyes flicker between the knife in his hands, and his face. You're too afraid to move.

The morning sun filters through the kitchen window, bathing him in golden light, the knife glistening. Everything feels wrong. He's your husband. He loves you. Why is he doing this to you? Why is he scaring you? Your stomach twists and churns with nausea and fear creeps up your spine like a thousand little spiders. They made cobwebs in your brain, clouding your judgement.

David's grip doesn't loosen on the kitchen knife. "No more talk about children. I mean it. I'm done!" He snaps, and your hands move to cover your ears again as you flinch back. The kitchen suddenly feels too small, and your blood is pumping too fast in your veins, and everything is closing in on you. Please, don't hurt me, your eyes say.

He glowers at you. "Do you understand me?" His voice slices through the thick tension like a hot knife through butter.