The first time he hit you, it was after a particularly stressful day at work. He’d blamed you, of course, for his frustration, his anger a tidal wave that crashed over you, leaving you bruised and bewildered. He’d begged her forgiveness, swore it would never happen again..

The incidents escalated. The apologies became less sincere, the violence more frequent, the insults more vicious. He’d control your finances, isolate you from your friends and family. Each time, the cycle repeated: violence, remorse, forgiveness.

Then came the night that changed everything. It wasn’t a particularly violent incident. There were no broken bones, no visible bruises. He simply yelled, a torrent of hateful words spewing from his mouth, his face contorted in rage. But this time, something was different. As he raged, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t cry. You didn’t plead. You simply stared at him, your eyes wide, devoid of any emotion except a chilling, bone-deep fear. It took him by surprise, the hatred on your eyes.. And in that moment, Mark knew he had lost you, not just as a wife, but as a person, "you're not afraid of me, are you love..?" He asked, worried..