I hated being wrong. I had made a sequence of terrible choices in my early twenties. One bad decision after the next that had all led me here. And I hated that I was still unable to make good ones.

The footage of him beating me would have been perfect. A flawless angle. Apparently I wasn’t grateful. Apparently I had made a scene at the restaurant. Apparently I was worthless.

My hands shook as I removed the tape from the camera lens. And apparently I was an idiot that couldn’t learn from her past mistakes. I blinked at the camera.

Was Ben watching? I wanted him to be. Could he see the bruise on the side of my jaw? I hoped he could. We could have captured my husband’s abuse on film. But I had been too stubborn. Too caught up in a love story that would never see fruition. Save me from myself, Ben. I stared at the camera, willing him to help me.

But my phone didn’t ring or buzz. All I could hear was the water from the shower upstairs. Ben wasn’t watching. And why would he be? I told him not to. I had covered up the cameras. I had ruined everything. Ben was right. This would have been a better way. How much more guilt could I carry before I broke? If I hadn’t already broken.

God, I shouldn’t have fought with Ben last night. Maybe he had just come to the restaurant to make sure I was okay. He had kissed me like he cared. I ran my index finger along my bottom lip, remembering his lips against mine. But he wouldn’t listen to me. I couldn’t go to the police. He had seen the files downstairs. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. If he had picked up any of them, he already knew I was insane. It was the words in the files against my own. And it felt like Ben wanted me to go to the police to confess what I was planning. I pinched the bridge of my nose. Or had I misread that whole conversation?

I wanted to throw something. What did it matter? Ben had never denied calling Sally Ann. Or setting up a date with her. It was done. We were done. I stared back at the camera. Obviously we were done.

The shower was still running upstairs. Over-thinking everything wasn’t helping. I had more to do than wallow. This was the first time I had been alone since my husband came home. If I was lucky, I’d slip up again and he’d punish me. And we’d get it on camera. And if I wasn’t? I still had another plan.

In the meantime, I needed to try to get into that safe. My ankle still ached as I made my way down the stairs, but it was getting better. If I was lucky, it would be completely healed in another week or so. Not soon enough for my master plan. But that was why it was such a good plan. I just got to watch it unfold from a safe distance. The boy from Home Alone was a genius.

I ignored the files, my eyes honing in on the keypad of the safe. I tried our birthdays, names, and other important dates again, this time writing down each thing I tried in a notebook. Nothing. I bit the inside of my lip. I tried the dates backward. What was his favorite holiday? Christmas? I tried that. Nothing.

I slapped the side of the safe. Work, damn it. I thought of his parents’ names from the marriage certificate and tried them. The stupid machine just beeped innocently back at me. And I knew it wasn’t innocent. I knew there was something terrible in there. Something worse than all these files and the memories in my head.

The water stopped. I looked up at the ceiling and then back at the safe. “I’ll be back, you son of a bitch.” I pinched the bridge of my nose again as I made my way upstairs. My head was pounding. I needed an Advil. Or maybe I just needed to stop talking to inanimate objects.

I stepped into our bedroom just as my husband was coming out the bathroom. A towel was slung around his waist. Water dripped down his chest and abs. Any woman who didn’t know him would drool. But the façade didn’t fool me. I knew the darkness that lurked beneath his physique. And he was hideous to me.

I turned away from him and grabbed the bottle of Advil from my nightstand. Huh. It was regular Advil. Not extra strength. I rotated the bottle in my hand to look at the back. I knew it had been extra strength. Because I didn’t like it. And it didn’t seem to work. Where had this come from?

“Did you put this here?” I asked as I turned to my husband.

“It was there since I’ve been home. Even though it doesn’t belong there.”

The snide remark wasn’t lost on me. But I wasn’t talking about it not being in the medicine cabinet. I meant the actual existence of the bottle. “Did you pick it up for me? I thought we had extra strength.”

He grabbed it out of my hand and placed it back on the nightstand. His fingers gently traced the bruise on my jaw. “Are you in pain, Adeline?”

I tried not to recoil from his touch. “I’m fine.” That wasn’t why I was asking about the Advil. I was asking because a bottle that hadn’t been in our house a few days ago had miraculously appeared on my nightstand.

“I can make you feel better.” His mouth fell to my neck and I cringed.

“I’m not really in the mood.”

He ignored me and leaned forward, pushing me against the bed.

No. My eyes gravitated to the camera on the dresser. I had taken off the tape from it earlier. But I didn’t do it so that Ben could see this happen. I never wanted Ben to see this.

He’s not watching. The voice in the back of my head made me close my eyes. He doesn’t care about you. If he did, he would have tried to call. He would have seen the bruise. He would have seen your tears. You’re all alone.

The thought of Ben not watching made me even nervous than if he had been watching.

“Really, I’m not in the mood.” I tried to push on his shoulders.

“I know it hurts. I’ll make it better. I always make it better.”

I felt nauseous. “Please.”

He didn’t hear me begging him not to. He never could read me. Instead he took it as an invitation. He actually thought I wanted him. It would have been funny if I was miles away from him. But here in his arms? Nothing was humorous.

His lips crashed against mine. He forced my lips to part with his tongue.

I missed Ben’s touch. Ben’s taste. But for some reason, it was harder to remember now. Our parting last night felt final. The memories were slipping. Just like everything seemed to slip from my mind.

The thought was terrifying. And the harder he kissed me, the harder it was to remember. His soft hands wiped away the feeling of Ben’s rough ones. His groans made Ben’s groans vanish. He was taking everything from me. I tried to push against him again, but he just clutched me harder. And his painful grip erased the memory of Ben’s loving touch.

I was in hell. He pushed the hem of my skirt up. I was in hell and there was no escape. Killing him wouldn’t take away my pain. Nothing would. I didn’t resist his advances any further. There was no point. It’s not like I had anything left to save.

But the sharp knock on the door was a welcome reprieve to his burning kisses on my flesh. I pushed away from him.

“Ignore it,” he said.

“It might be important.” Even though I knew it wasn’t. It was probably just some door-to-door salesman.

The knock sounded even louder.

He groaned. “Fine. I need to get dressed. Answer the door.”

I took the escape. My head cleared as soon as I was out of our bedroom and away from him. But that thought lingered. Killing him wouldn’t erase the memories. The only thing that seemed to make me not think about my husband’s touch, sight, smell, taste, and sound was Ben. He made me feel whole again. Alive again. He filled up every one of my senses so I couldn’t feel anything but him.

I opened up the door and it was like my guardian angel had appeared. Ben was standing on my front porch and he was every bit the heaven to my husband’s hell.