Prologue

There's shattered glass everywhere, the kind of shards that cut deeper than skin, and the ones that also shred the heart. And God, my heart is in tatters at the moment.

The other shoe has dropped.

I crawl over the crushed glass, tiny fragments digging into the palms of my hands and knees. The blood that trails under and behind me reminds me of the life I've led with Robert. A life full of pain, no less significant than my throbbing head from where he threw me against the kitchen cabinets.

The bloody knife gleams across the kitchen floor, and I don't even know how it got there. It's all a blur. But I still crawl over to it, slowly but surely, hoping he's slowed down. Maybe he thinks I'm done for, that this is how I go. Did you really stab me, Rob? It all feels like a dream. Except it must be real because the way my insides burn and the blood dripping down my side tell a different story than the one I want to convince myself of.

Right before I can reach the knife, just mere inches from my fingers, he kicks me in the side with his steel-toed boot. I wince, tensing as I brace myself for another hit on the only side of my body that seems to have any strength left. The crunch of my ribs is loud in my ears, and the pain is absolutely blinding. Blood, warm and sticky, is pooling under me, and I lie my cheek down on the kitchen tiles as I contemplate where I go from here. How the hell do I get out of this?

"You fucking slut!" He growls, gripping my hair in his fist as he removes me from the comfort of the cold floor. "I always knew there was something between y'all, you little liar."

"I swear there was nothing!"

Leave him.

Get out.

Run.

You don't need him.

You don't have to see him ever again.

I whimper again when he steps away from me, and the only reason I'm aware of it is from the crunch of his shoes on the shards of glass littering the tiled floor. He seems to be walking slow on purpose, and I count his steps.

One. Two. Three.

Pause.

And then the sound of the front door slamming behind him.

Full-body sobs take over me, making the pain worse, and I shift onto my hands and knees and crawl to the kitchen island. My ribs shift with every inch of space I cover, and I wheeze when I take hold of the edge of the counter and try to pull myself up.

With shaky, slippery, bloody hands, I grip the edge of the counter again, pulling myself up just for my knees to give out. A chuckle bursts past my lips, but it holds no humor. It's not lost on me that I've been told to leave him countless times.

He's ruining your life.

He's going to kill you one day, and I don't want to sit down and watch.

I worry about you.

He's dangerous.

I want him out of your life.

You just have to love yourself enough to leave.

You are stronger than he lets you think you are.

Cheyenne would say all of these things, and I didn't listen.

I didn't listen.

Now fucking look at me.

With one last cry, I manage to pull myself up from the ground. Immediately, I bend over, clutching at my side for dear life. I don't know how long I have before I bleed out, especially since he yanked the knife out. Everyone knows you should never take out the knife. Does he want me dead? Or just paralyzed for the rest of my life?

I shuffle over to the other side of the house, looking for my purse. Searching frantically in slow motion for the one thing I need to get out of here. I grab it with bloody fingers, finding my car keys inside of it, and slowly walk out of the house. Unlocking the car, I get in and reverse out of the driveway as fast as I can, barely managing to not hit the car parked behind me on the other side of the street.

I need to get out.

And little does Robert know, this is the last time he will ruin my life.

Or so I thought.