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The first time he hits me, I don’t leave

I’azine articles and books, I can see Oprah watching with her disappointed-yet-understanding face, hear the mantra everyone choruses from the sidelines, but they aren’t me They don’t understand

They aren’t fresh froement parties, the ink barely dry on the announce into a five-bedroohborhood in town, still picking out drapes and a confetti of paint samples

They aren’t twenty-six, the last of their sorority sisters to finally get the ring, the man, the stamped seal of approval that no, it’s not too late, the desperate panic in my chest can finally fade: I haven’t missed my chance I can have a family of my own I won’t be alone

Besides, I tell rabbed me hard, sure, but I was the one who lost ized, said he was stressed froht It was my fault, too

So I stay

The second time he hits me, it’s a back-handed crack across the side of h every bone inhold ofI thought was safe shatters into a million pieces

I taste blood, ht And I know, this time, I can’t marry him

I take a shaking breath and forcemy hand to the tender flesh just back fros to the touch, and I know there’ll be aleft inhow I can hide it, with six guests waiting in the living room downstairs, and four courses still to serve

I should be hurt, or scared, or angry But I don’t feel anything at all

I don’t love hiuess I never did

“Are you OK?” Alexander’s voice co sorry at all “But this isn’t the ti vacation plans I’ve got a room full of partners downstairs Do you understand how important this dinner is?”

“I do,” Ihis cellphone in the doorway, scrolling through some email or website He looks so casual, I almost wonder if I’ve hallucinated the last ten seconds Then htmare

He did it It was real

You could never tell by looking at him The expensive navy suit I picked out for him drapes over a solid body, his dark hair neat over a handsonified, the kind of et a drink at the end of the day, tee up with for a round of golf at the club—not a man who’d ever raise his hand to a woman

But appearances , and shouldn’t I know that by now? After all, I’ at being the perfect fiancée, when I know there’s soly truth I keep buried deep inside

“I’ it to be over, for it to be wiped clean froht”

He glances up “It’s OK Just, clean yourself up” His eyes sweep over ht down”

He turns and stalks out of the room I hear hihter fro in a toast, the warm chatter of conversation

This is your life

The thought appears in ive ith the cold harsh truth I sink down on the bed, layered with the finest Italian linens, stranded here alone in the

This is what you’ve done with your life This is everything you have

A laugh burbles up in my throat, hysterical I clamp a hand over my mouth Not now, Carina I order myself You can’t fall apart now

You don’t ever fall apart

And I haven’t, nocoether, no , even I don’t knohat’s real anymore

I take a deep breath, forcing back the fear and icy chill of failure, and slowly rise to h to my en-suite bathroo powder over the red ain so it falls over my cheek in sleek blonde tendrils I blot ht smile on my face

Perfect Just like I’m supposed to be

Downstairs, I rejoin the party, slipping a fresh drink into Alexander’s hand Scotch on the rocks, the way he likes it He gives roup: three of the partners at his invest firm and their wives The men are all like Alexander: in their forties or older, with expensive suits and receding hairlines and year-round tans The wives are all like ner outfits, our faces s on our earlobes and draped off our wrists

Suddenly, their faces all look wrong to hter Like they’re tribal