He stepped closer, and before I could even blink, his hand came down hard across my face. The sound cracked in the room like thunder.
I stumbled back, shocked. My cheek burned, my vision blurred. For a moment, I thought I misheard—that it couldn’t be real. Nathan had never hit me before. He’d shouted, yes. Controlled, yes. But never this.
We used to be sweet once—so sweet it almost feels like a lie now. He was gentle, protective, the kind of man who would cover me with a blanket when I fell asleep on the couch, or hold my hand while crossing a busy street.
He used to tell me he couldn’t stand seeing me hurt, that he’d rather take the pain himself. Back then, I believed him. I believed every word, every promise, every soft kiss that told me I was safe.
I still remember one night, long before everything fell apart. We were lying on the couch after dinner, his head resting on my lap, the city lights flickering through the curtains.
“Em,” he said softly, tracing circles on my wrist, “if you ever cry, I want it to be because you’re happy. Not because of me.”
I laughed then, brushing his hair away from his eyes. “You say that now, but someday you might forget.”