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FOUR YEARS BEFORE

Opal

These stories are too common to be surprising, but here it is: Zander first hit Opal on the same day she discovered she was pregnant.

She had never wanted a baby, and neither did he. Neither had had happy childhoods. Opal had narcissistic parents and Zander grew up in the foster care system. They ran a successful business together that was growing all the time, they did not have time to be parents, and did not know how to be. But the birth control had failed, and she was pregnant, and she was trying to work out how to tell him, and meanwhile they were in the kitchen of her Merseyside apartment arguing over money, and he backhanded her in the face. Quite casually, as if it were the natural order of things.

The shock was not because of the slap. Opal had been hit before. The shock was that up until that moment, she had thought she was the powerful one in their relationship. She had started the business, she had taught him the ropes, the apartment was hers, he was younger than she was.

His hand hitting her face told her that the balance had shifted.

“I’m so sorry,” he said immediately. “Darling, I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Let me get you an ice pack. I didn’t hurt you, did I? I would never hurt you—I love you. You just make me so angry I can’t control myself.”

The next morning there were flowers. So many flowers. Roses, lilies, chrysanthemums, orchids. Gerberas and sunflowers, freesias and carnations and tulips. Enough to fill the apartment, and her desk at work, too.

She had always thought: If you hit me once, it’s your fault. If you hit me twice, it’s mine . She had felt contempt for women, like her mother, who voluntarily stayed with abusive men. But when it’s actually happening to you, it’s more complicated than that.

Their lives were completely intertwined. She couldn’t run the business as it was without him. He knew everything about it, and her. She’d never been so vulnerable to anyone before. He knew everything about her life, except that she was expecting his baby. Even though he didn’t know, the pregnancy tied her to him.

So she believed him when he said he didn’t mean to do it. He wouldn’t do it again.

Except the next time, he broke her finger.

And the next time, he kneed her in the stomach. And she started bleeding, and lost the baby that she hadn’t told him about yet.

He cried about the baby with her. Neither of them knew they’d wanted it until it was gone. And she couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t known. She hadn’t told him, so it was her fault. They had more secrets between them now. More in common. More reason to stay together.

And he kept buying her flowers. So many flowers. More than enough for a wedding or a funeral, all of them so easily bruised and broken.