“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is low, dangerous. “I know you’re cheating on me!”

I swallow hard, my mind racing for an answer that won’t make things worse.

Another slap. This one harder. My knees buckle, and I stumble back against the dining table. A plate wobbles and crashes to the floor, but I don’t dare look at it. My focus stays on him. On his hands.

His chest rises and falls in heavy breaths. “You think I’m stupid?”

I shake my head quickly. “No, I don’t—”

His fist slams against my ribs. The pain explodes through my side, and I bite down on my lip to stop the scream that tries to escape.

Behind the door, I think I hear a tiny gasp. My son.

No. Please, baby, stay in your room.

I force myself to stand straighter, pushing down the agony twisting inside me. “I swear, I wasn’t—”

Another blow. This time, my head snaps back so hard that I taste blood.

I don’t know how long it goes on. The pain becomes a blur, a familiar rhythm that I know too well. Hit. Pause. Insult. Another hit.

Eventually, I stop trying to defend myself. I curl in on myself, arms wrapped around my middle, waiting for it to end.

Then, just like that, it does.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if I’m the one who’s disappointed him. “Useless,” he mutters before shoving past me.

I don’t move until I hear the bedroom door slam shut.

Only then do I let out a breath—a broken, trembling breath that barely sounds human.

I press a shaking hand to my ribs, feeling the bruises already forming beneath my skin. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except—

The soft creak of a door opening.

I freeze. Slowly, I turn my head, and there he is my jay.

My son stands in the hallway, his tiny hands gripping the doorframe, his little face pale with fear.

Tears sting my eyes. “Baby,” I whisper.