“I spent thirty years defending this country,” Arthur whispered, leaning down so his face was inches from Leo’s rapidly darkening one. The general’s voice was conversational, which made it infinitely more terrifying. “I have fought warlords. I have dismantled insurgencies. I have killed men who were ten times the man you pretend to be.”
—
1. The Weight of the House
The bucket of soapy water felt like it weighed fifty pounds. It sloshed against the pristine, gleaming baseboards of the living room, a stark contrast to the dark, bruising exhaustion settling deep into my bones.
I was six months pregnant. My lower back throbbed with a persistent, dull ache that had become my constant companion. Sweat beaded on my forehead, stinging my eyes, as I scrubbed the hardwood floor on my hands and knees. The smell of lemon pine cleaner was nauseating, mixing poorly with the subtle metallic tang I had been tasting in the back of my throat all morning.
“You missed a spot under the credenza, Maya,” my Mother-in-Law, Helen, sneered from the plush, cream-colored sofa. She didn’t look up from the glossy pages of her architectural magazine. She reached out blindly, her manicured fingers grazing the rim of a crystal glass filled with iced tea. Finding it empty, she rattled the ice cubes loudly. “And I need a refill. Honestly, Leo likes the house perfect when he gets home. Don’t be lazy. Pregnancy isn’t a disease.”
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced a tight, obedient nod. “Yes, Helen. I’ll get it.”
My marriage to Leo had devolved into a masterclass in domestic servitude within a year of our wedding. Before the ring, Leo was charming, ambitious, and seemingly devoted. But the moment the ink dried on our marriage certificate, the mask slipped. When we found out I was pregnant, the mask was discarded entirely.
He moved his mother in “to help with the transition.” Instead of a grandmotherly presence, Helen became the warden, and Leo became her eager, cruel lieutenant. Every day was a grueling schedule of manual labor, complicated meals, and impossible standards. I was expected to manage the household like a Victorian scullery maid while carrying his child.
I pushed myself up from the floor, my knees aching against the hard wood. I reached for the heavy bucket, intending to carry it to the kitchen sink to refresh the water.
As I lifted, my body finally hit its breaking point.