I wake up early the next morning. My whole body is still in agony.

Groaning with pain, I get out of bed and make it slowly to the bathroom. While I am in there I hear the phone ring so I have to dash back out, hurting myself in my hurry. It’s Tony. He’s all sweetness and light. He tells me he’s taking me out tonight.

I inform him that I have a black eye.

He is silent for a moment, then he tells me he’ll get his mates to drop him off after he’s been to the club instead.

I agree to his plan and try not to allow the revulsion I feel to creep into my voice. After he rings off I sit down slowly on the bed. Oh God. When will this be over? I feel trapped and lost. Were it not for my mom and Christopher I would have walked out the first day he laid a hand on me.

I stare at a blank wall.

I already know what will happen tonight. He will come around and want me to have sex with him. While fucking me he will keep banging into my bruises. He’ll pretend they are accidents, but I know he does it deliberately. Then when he comes he will choke me again.

I spend the day huddled up in the apartment, licking my wounds, and drinking enough tea to make me feel waterlogged and sluggish. Charlotte calls.

“I need to talk to you,” I say.

“What about?” she asks warily.

“Tell you when I see you.”

She makes a sound of despair. “He’s hurt you again, hasn’t he?”

“No, no,” I lie. “It’s not about that. It’s about that cake recipe I asked you about.” Cake recipe is our code word for fake passports.

There is a pause. “Oh, that,” she says super casually. “Of course. I will look for it tonight. When do you want to meet?”

“In a couple of days.”

“Damn that stupid wanker. You need a couple of days to recover, don’t you?” she demands furiously.

“I’ve got to go, babe, but I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” I end the call and wander to the kitchen. A look in the fridge only depresses me. I have next to nothing. Yesterday was food shopping day, but because I met Tyson, I didn’t go to the supermarket.

There’s enough in my purse for bread, milk, and a few other things, so I bundle up and put on my sunglasses even though it’s well past sunset. Everybody knows what a woman wearing dark glasses at night is trying to hide, but it’s better to have someone shake their head and click their tongue than to let anyone actually see how hideous I look. When I was younger I thought of women who stay with men who abuse them as pathetic. Now I am one of them.

It is with that shame I walk through the door of the corner shop. Mr. Rama’s wife always comes in the evening to spend a bit of time with her husband so she is also behind the counter. They are a sweet couple who call out to me cheerfully.

As they bag up my things they talk to me about the weather and are kind enough to pretend not to acknowledge the elephant in the room. Sometimes I fantasize about telling other people. Telling anybody who could help me.

Yes, he hits me. Hard. Yes, I’m bruised. Frequently. No, I don’t like it. Yes, I’m desperate to leave him, but I can’t. He’ll kill me. Worse, he’ll kill my son. He’ll probably kill my son while I watch, just for spite. That’s what a monster he is, that’s how sick he is. But all of this goes unsaid as I thank them for their help and pick up my bag.

The moment I turn the corner to walk down the quiet path leading to my apartment block, a tall figure steps in front of me. I’m so skittish and nervous I jump back with a cry of fear, ready to run.

“Wait, wait! It’s just me. Just me.” Tyson takes my arms and I flinch, wincing with pain. His jaw drops. “Jesus Christ. Sunglasses.”

“How did you find me?” I gasp.

His eyes search my face anxiously. “I had a private investigator trace your phone call and I came here immediately and waited for you. I knew you’d have to get out of your apartment complex at some time.”

I look around, panic stricken. “You have to get out of here. Now.”

“What’s with the glasses?” he whispers. “It’s fucking dark, Izzy.”

“I have an eye infection,” I rattle off. One of my many excuses. It usually works. Not this time.

“I just saw you yesterday and your eyes were fine. Try again.”

“Please, leave me alone. I have to get back before somebody sees us.” I try to move back, but in a flash he has grasped my hand. He reaches out and takes off the sunglasses. His face goes blank for a moment before his eyes narrow to slits and the area around his mouth goes white.

“I’ll fucking kill him,” he spits. “So help me God, Izzy, I’ll kill that bastard for what he’s done to you!”

“You’ll get me killed standing out here talking to me, saying things like this!” I hiss. I can barely think for terror. If Tony were to show up right now … I whip my head around, but the street behind us is virtually empty. Thank God for that.

“I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him with my bare hands, Izzy. I’ll take pleasure in it, I swear,” Tyson snarls.

“Yes, and I would love to see it,” I blurt out. Suddenly, I feel tired. So damned tired. If only I could unburden this terrible weight on someone else. Just for a moment. My shoulders sag and I exhale.

“Let me help you, Izzy,” Tyson says softly.

The temptation to say yes, help me, is so strong I have to bite my tongue.

“Come on Izzy. You can’t go back to him. I’ll take you somewhere safe right now.”

“There is nowhere safe you can take me. Why don’t I meet you tomorrow and we can talk then? He is coming to see me tonight.”

I have never seen any man look the way he did when I said he is coming tonight. It was murderous rage.

“You know nothing about me if you think I am going to let that sick pervert anywhere near you again.”

I look at him in a panic. “You don’t understand. I can’t just leave.”

He looms above me, his hands clenched tight at his sides. “Why not?”

I think fast. This is getting dangerous. His hotel is not too far from here, and I need to tell him about Christopher, anyway. If anything were to happen to me, he needs to know he has a son. Yesterday taught me how fragile my situation is. I should have told him the truth, the full truth yesterday, but I thought I could keep him from entangling with Tony. Christopher needs to know his father if I die or otherwise disappear …

When I tell him about Christopher he will understand why I can’t just rattle the wasps’ nest. I need to plan a proper getaway. Maybe he can help with the passports. “All right, let’s go to your hotel and talk?”

He takes my groceries out of my hand and we walk quickly to the street where he flags a taxi. I look around me fearfully. If someone sees me get into a cab with him, I’m dead meat. Life would’ve been so different if I hadn’t lost my cell in Paris. Then it would have been the way it should’ve been. But there’s no room for that sort of sentimentality right now.

I shake myself free of that fantasy life of the three of us living as a family. I learned the hard way to stop indulging myself in it, because it is just that. A sweet fantasy.

I climb into the taxi at the very moment I see Jessica Lambert come down the road. Instantly, I slip down, right down to the floor of the cab. When I look at Tyson, his jaw is clenched tight, and he is staring straight ahead. He gives the address to the driver and the car starts moving, but I don’t come up until we are a few streets away.