Page 78 of Long Pig

“I don’t like surprises,” he whispered, his index finger tracing a path down the back of her neck.

The touch was feather-light, yet it rooted her to the spot. The air tightened around her, and she felt the absolute, non-negotiable command within the tenderness of his grip.

After that, she never moved anything without asking first.

She told herself, in the quietest corners of her mind, that this was simply what marriage was: a series of compromises. Every couple had adjustments; every man got frustrated sometimes. She clung to the idea that she was being too sensitive.

But the longer she lived with Todd, the more tangible the transformation became. She felt herself quietly disappearing, her opinions shrinking into nothingness. She laughed less frequently, spoke softer, and learned to choose her words like she was stepping barefoot through broken glass. She was terrified that any sudden movement or unintended sound would shatter the carefully constructed peace.

And still, she couldn't tell anyone what was wrong. There were no bruises, no raised voices, no public scenes to point to. Only that subtle, creeping feeling, that she had walked willingly, with a wedding veil over her eyes, into a marriage she didn’t yet understand.

The first time he struck her happened so suddenly, she looked up from the floor where she fell, her hand covering her jaw, and anger took over. She attacked him back.

Hours later, she lay in the bath, two ribs possibly broken, and a missing back tooth. He’d used her savagely too. The fight had turned him on.

Nine months later, their daughter was born. A week later, Sammy, a bloody lip and tender stomach where Todd punched her, drank alcohol until she no longer heard Willow screaming in her crib.

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