I looked down at the bland piece of chicken on my plate. All I wanted to do was find that box. But he was breathing down my neck.

“Eat, Adeline.”

I glanced up at his face. It was odd. At one point, I thought I loved his smile. His eyes. His nose even. Now each feature made me feel nauseous. “Are you going to send me away?” I hated how pathetic I sounded. But he'd barely said a word since we left Dr. Nash’s. What had they talked about?

He finished chewing and set down his fork. “You’re acting like I want to. I never want to.”

“Then why do you threaten me with it?”

“Why do you continue to defy me?”

Because you don’t own me. I was done fighting with him. All I had to do was wait until he needed to leave to catch his flight. Whenever that was. He'd originally said he’d be stopping by for lunch. It was almost 3 o’clock. And I couldn’t force this food down my throat. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I can take some vacation time. I can…”

“No. That’s not necessary. You have to work. And I told you I’d take the pills.”

He stared at me, as if he was trying to gauge my honesty. “Then take them.”

The bag from the pharmacy sat on the table between us. A divide we’d never cross.

But if I wanted him to leave, I had to put those pills in my mouth. At least I didn’t have to swallow them. I pulled the bag toward me and took out bottle after bottle. It was an endless supply of ways to cloud my thoughts. Exactly what he wanted. Exactly what Dr. Nash wanted. But it wasn’t what I wanted. Why didn’t my opinion count? Why didn’t I get a say? I wasn’t insane. I didn’t need a custodian.

I'd had one moment of weakness. One instance where I had lost control. That didn’t earn a lifetime of damnation. It didn’t. That’s what hell was for. I deserved to live my life the way I wanted. They were robbing me of that.

I unscrewed the cap to the first bottle and popped two of them in my mouth. Two for depression. I unscrewed the second bottle. Two for anxiety. I drank some water, being careful to keep the pills tucked under my tongue. Bottle after bottle. Paranoia. Nausea medicine to counteract the side effects of all the other pills. Claustrophobia. One to relieve symptoms of OCD. A thyroid problem they couldn’t prove. Way too many pills to hide underneath my tongue. But my husband didn’t take his eyes off me.

I screwed the last cap back on and tossed the bottle into the bag. “Happy?” My words sounded gargled. Damn it.

“Swallow them, Adeline.”

“I have.” Even I could hear the slurred tone of my voice.

He stood up and walked over to me.

I tried to force my throat to make a gulping noise, but failed. My mouth was too full.

He grabbed my jaw and yanked my face up to his. “Now, Adeline.”

I tried to shake my head, but his fingers dug into my jaw.

“Swallow.”

“I…need…water.”

“Now!”

I swallowed a few of the pills dry. They scratched my throat the whole way down. He kept my chin in his grasp.

“All of them.”

Tears bit at the corners of my eyes. One by one, the pills went down. I felt sick to my stomach.

“Stick your tongue out.”

I clenched my jaw shut. Screw him. I'd done what he had asked. And it felt like I had just swallowed poison. My mind was already muddled. The moment stretched on and on.

He pinched my nose closed. “Open your mouth!”

I grabbed his wrist with both my hands to push him off. He responded by putting his free hand around my neck.

I couldn’t breathe.

He tightened his fingers.

“Stop!” I tried to yell, but no sound came out.

He took my opportunity of weakness to pry open my jaw. He shoved me backward when he was satisfied.

My butt slid off the chair and I landed on the ground.

“I wanted a nice afternoon, Adeline.”

“I’m sorry.” It felt like I was still choking. I gasped for air.

“Why do you always have to test my patience?”

“I’m sorry.”

He crouched down beside me. “If I come home this weekend and find you in the same condition I did today, then I’m going to have no choice.”

“I’ll take the pills. I promise.”

“Good girl.” He leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair out of my face, completely ignoring my tears. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

There was no question in his sentence. But I shook my head anyway.

“Dr. Nash suggested someone coming and checking in on you once a day. Until my schedule eases up.”

He was talking about being home more again. Just the thought made it feel like my heart stopped beating. “I don’t need someone to check on me. I had a bad day is all. I missed you. This house feels small without you here.” Claustrophobia was apparently one of my issues. I could play that up.

He nodded. “Only one more day apart until this weekend, babe.” His fingers wandered over my neck, landing on my injured shoulder. “Try not to hurt yourself while I’m gone.”

You’re the one that hurt me. He was so obviously the crazy one in our relationship. I just wished I didn’t feed off of his insanity. Instead of fighting, I nodded my head.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. It took every ounce of restraint I possessed not to bite him. I imagined it was Ben. I imagined the smell of grass and the taste of lust. And when he pulled away and his face came back into focus, I had this horrible fear. What if I had made up the box? What if I had made up my hurt shoulder? What if I had made up Ben?

My heart rate accelerated. Paranoia. I did have it. But it was because of the medicine. Right? The thought of Ben not being real made me want to cry.

My husband cupped my face in his hand. “I wish I could stay. I wish I could be here to take care of you. And help you get better.”

I nodded, despite the fact that I loathed the idea and didn’t need a lick of his help. My eyelid twitched. I needed to find that box. I needed to go to Ben. I needed to throw up. My mind was consumed and the man in front of me blurred away.

The sound of the front door closing pulled me out of my trance. He was gone. I stood up on wobbly legs and started running for the stairs.

My sprained ankle. My shoulder. The pain still emanating from my neck. Nothing could stop me from getting to that box. I had been taking pictures of the injuries he had given me. We had no pictures of us hanging in the house. No lies in images. But I had the truth in a whole shoebox of images.

I threw myself onto my hands and knees at the base of my bed. No. There wasn’t a single thing under our bed. Not a loose sock or a dust bunny, let alone a box. No. I pushed myself away from the bed. No!

I buried my face in my hands. I had lost all control of my body. It heaved up and down as I cried harder than I ever had. I touched my neck where it still felt like his hands were. I knew I had lost my freedom. I had no choice but to give it up to him. But when had this happened? When had I lost my mind too?