Chapter 1

One

Fifteen years later . . .

"Ember," Roger chastises, peering at my face. "No, we're too old to play dress-up."

"But it's almost Halloween. We should pick our costumes for the block party?—"

"I said no," he snaps furiously, his eyes sparkling with darkness. There's hatred in his gaze that makes me shrink back. He was a kind man when I married him, or so I'd thought. At nineteen, I didn't really have a clue, but women don't have much of a choice besides finding a man to marry. Not many can get a job, at least not a good one, and we certainly aren't allowed to attend college like Roger did.

We are homemakers, wives, and child bearers.

Despite my vehement protests growing up, I married. I succumbed to the American dream to save my mother. She was sick, and Father had died five years before in the war so we didn't have any money for medicine. Roger came along like a white knight when I'd been scrambling for some sort of plan to purchase the medication. Roger came from money, and he was going to college to be a doctor. He was also older and handsome and everything a proper woman should look for in a husband. Mother loved him, thought he was perfect, and so she pushed me to accept his first offer to go steady. He took me under his wing and showed me kindness, and we fell into the illusion of love.

When he proposed a few months later, he promised to take care of me and my mother forever. I had no choice but to say yes, so it seemed an easy decision.

It has been six years since we married. Mother passed six months ago, and it's like with her death, the bindings Roger placed on himself went with her. All shreds of humanity disappeared in an instant, and the kindness and softness I had been used to during the day vanished completely. Now, there is a cruel hatred that I'd only seen in very concerning moments between the sheets. I hate those times. I hate that he no longer keeps those emotions in the bedroom.

Roger is anything but a kind man, and I learned that far too late. I'm trapped with nowhere else to go, and he knows it. I have no money of my own, no family to fall back on or protect me, and no job or hopes of getting one. In the tiny town of Lost Springs, I'm nobody, just the strange wife who always seems a little out of sorts. Roger is their amazing, perfect doctor, and they worship the ground he walks on.

I play the game he wants. I learned the rules fast, but it seems like I struck a nerve over the Halloween costumes because he suddenly grabs my throat and slams me into the wallpaper behind me. My head cracks audibly against the wall, making me whimper, but I swallow the pain, used to it by now as I hang in his grip, struggling to breathe.

I don't even fight back anymore, and I hate that the most.

I did at first, but it only made things worse. If anything, me fighting back seemed to excite him, and at five foot one to his six foot five, I don't stand a chance. He knows that, and he takes pleasure in reminding me anytime I push back.

His boring brown eyes gleam as he glares at me, his perfectly coiffed blond hair pushed back. I used to think his hair was perfect and neat. Now, I see it for the illusion it is. He's still in his suit since he came home early from his practice without warning. "I let this foolishness go while your mother was here, but no more. You are not a child, Ember, and it's time to grow up. You will be submissive and beautiful. No more stupid makeup or costumes. No more games." He rips the one I was making, the leotard I sewed for days, away from my chest, and I close my eyes to keep the tears from falling.

I know what will come next. It always comes after.

"If you want to dress like a little whore, then I'll treat you like one."

I barely have time to gasp as he spins me and slams my face into the wall. My eye immediately echoes with pain, and I know it will bruise later. Black spots dance across my vision, my awareness fading, and I wonder idly if he will finally kill me. I almost yearn for it, wanting to join Mother and Father again, to be free of him and this house.

When I come back from the darkness to hear his grunts in my ear and feel the pain in my hips and groin, I know I wasn't so lucky. He thrusts harder, brutally ripping my insides because I'm dry. I cry out in pain, and he presses my face harder against the wall to silence me. He likes it when he hurts me.

He enjoys that he makes me bleed, and as tears slide down my cheeks, I force myself to go somewhere else and remember happier days.

When he's done, he throws me to the floor, and I can't even catch myself, my head slamming against the hardwood yet again. "Clean yourself up. You're a mess. The Carlsons are coming in an hour, and I expect dinner to be on the table for all of us, something they'll be delighted by. The wife likes pie."

I lift my head to see him zipping his pants before storming away, not even bothering to help me up. Swallowing hard, I reach down between my thighs, my fingers slipping in the blood there. I lift my fingers to the light and eye the red drops coating them before I bring them to my lips and suck them clean.

A perfectly placed scarf hangs around my neck, bangs cover the cut on my head, and the right amount of powder on my face makes sure the growing bruise isn't even apparent. My groin aches all night, but I smile through dinner, laughing at Roger's jokes and kissing him, playing the perfect couple so the Carlsons don't notice.

All the while, I'm dying inside.

More than once, I debate picking up the knife from the roasted chicken and plunging it into his chest. I'd be committed, but it would be worth it to watch his shock fade to horror as he bleeds out. I don't, of course. How uncouth. Instead, I listen to them blabber on about shit I don't care about, like frustrating patients, sports, and which mower is best for the perfect lawn.

When Mrs. Carlson asks when we will have children, I see the true Roger shine through. I cover my stomach protectively while forcing a smile in hopes I don't cry despite the echoes of pain.

No one knew, but I'd been pregnant not too long ago—until Roger became angry at the thought of having to share me with a child. Despite that being the dream, and despite it ruining his reputation, he strung me up and beat my stomach until I had a miscarriage. I bled for weeks and screamed in agony, but every night, Roger came home and still expected me to tend to my marital duties. I went numb the moment he decided to brutalize me completely—the final step.

He laughs at Mrs. Carlson's question, but I can tell it angers him, and I know I will be the one who pays for it later.

After dinner, he walks them to the door. I don't even realize I'm still covering my stomach until he turns to find me watching from the base of the stairs as he bids them goodbye. When they reach their car, his mask drops.

His expression becomes cold and angry as he slams the door behind him. "What do you say?"

"I'm sorry, Roger," I reply automatically.

"For what?" he demands.

I hesitate. If I say the wrong thing, it won't end well. I must hesitate too long because the next thing I know, I'm hitting the floor from a backhand I didn't even see coming.

"Pathetic. You can't even do what you were made for," he spits before stepping over me and heading to the kitchen.

I force myself up, ignoring the ache in my cheek, and follow him. I know that if I play the docile wife, this will end faster. I watch him pour himself a glass of whiskey.

"Stupid fucking woman. She makes me do this. If she just had the fucking baby?—"

Anger ignites within me at his accusation. I blink and look down to find the carving knife in my hand. I don't even remember picking it up, but as he turns, he sees it.

"Ember, what are you doing?" he asks, his voice dangerously low.

"I—" I glance at the knife and then back at him as his eyes cloud with fury.

"Put it down. Now," he orders, one finger pointing at me over his glass.

I hesitate, and he doesn't like that.

Before I can use the knife, I'm thrown into the wall again. Groaning, I slip to the hardwood floor I loved the moment we stepped foot in this house. Now, I detest it because I've spent so much time hurting on it. He isn't holding me, so I claw my way to the stairs. If I can make it up there, I can hide and lock the bathroom door until he's over his anger, but I don't move fast enough.

I'm flipped over before I make it two feet. The next punch has me seeing stars, my head lolling back.

I feel my nose break, and it's suddenly hard to breathe.

I'm almost numb, the pain fading into the darkness as if this is happening to someone else. As I stare into his eyes, I know he will kill me tonight. I feel it in my soul.

I refuse to beg or plead, so I keep my mouth shut, and he hates that more, his dark orbs filled with manic glee.

"You want a baby, Ember?" he sneers, spitting in my face. "Then let's give you a baby."

Gripping my hair, he drags me up the stairs. I scream as my body hits each and every step, and the numbness fades in favor of excruciating pain. I feel bones break, my skin bruising and splitting, but he doesn't relent.

He throws me onto the bed. I can barely lift my head as he kicks the door shut, sliding his belt off with one hand. I'm too tired to fight, but when his hands rip my dress up, I struggle out, ignoring the pain and my inability to breathe. I land a decent blow to his shoulder, but it's not enough to stop him.

Grabbing my face, he presses it to the bed, ignoring my flailing. I can't breathe as I suck in mouthfuls of blanket. He holds me in place as he slams inside me, the agony unbearable since I haven't healed from earlier. I start to choke, but he presses my head harder against the bedding.

The slap of his hips is loud as he rapes me.

I must black out because when I come to, my movements are sluggish and I'm coughing. I feel his cum sliding down my thighs and for some reason, that makes me want to cry.

I don't know why. He's done much worse before.

Much, much worse.

Somehow, I find the strength to roll over. He's lighting up a cigarette as he glares at me, and for the first time, I open my sore, bleeding lips. "Kill me," I beg.

"What's that?" he murmurs, leaning down and pressing the lit cigarette into my thigh. I scream at the agony, the smell of my burning flesh filling the air.

"Kill me!"

"You want me to kill you, Ember? Tough shit. I'm going to lock you in here forever. I'll fuck this tight little body every day until you're pregnant again, and then once the child is here, I'll kill you. I'll say you died in childbirth. The mourning widower will be the hit of the town. I'll find another woman who is more obedient and better in bed. No one will remember you. No one will even mourn you." He drags me into the attic and slams the door, sealing me in the darkness.