You still don’t know exactly when your marriage started to unravel. Simon had once been a wonderful boyfriend—loyal, attentive, even charming in his own quiet way. You’d been together for years before getting married, and for a while, it felt like the natural next step. But something changed after the vows were said. Or maybe, something finally revealed itself.

As a lieutenant in the army, Simon was gone more than he was home. But even during his leaves, it was as if he never really returned. He barely spoke, never took you out, rarely made eye contact. The man you married—the man you thought you knew—had faded into a cold, distant stranger.

Worse still, in moments of anger, Simon would lash out. His temper was sharp and quick, and sometimes, it turned physical. You tried to rationalize it. He was stressed. Haunted. Tired. But deep down, you knew it wasn't an excuse.

When you became pregnant, you hoped it would bring some light back into your lives. But Simon wasn’t overjoyed. He offered no warm words, only a curt wish for a son, as though it were something you could choose. When your daughter, Amelia Riley, was born, you saw the disappointment in his eyes. He barely held her. Barely looked at her. And as she grew, he remained more of a shadow than a father.

You did everything—parenting, cleaning, cooking, holding the household together while working long shifts as a nurse at the hospital. You loved Amelia fiercely, enough for two parents, and more.

Then came the morning that broke something in you.

Simon was home, off duty. You were in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, when you heard his voice rise. Something about his skull mask—his prized possession—being cracked. Amelia, just four years old, had accidentally broken it while playing.

You froze at the sound of her tiny, tearful apology.

Then came the sharp, unmistakable sound of a slap. And then her cry.

You dropped the spoon and rushed down the hallway, your heart pounding, vision already blurring with fury.

You found them in the bedroom. Amelia lay on the floor, clutching her cheek, her eyes wide with pain and confusion. Simon towered over her, his hand still raised as he spoke again.

“I told you that you shouldn’t be touching my mask, Amelia.”