Lost Memories, Found Truths

The rain lashed against the window, mirroring the fresh bruises blooming on my skin.

I lay on the cold bathroom tile, my breath a shallow, ragged gasp; another "accident" Mark would explain away.

He stood over me, bored and callous, reminding me our son would be late for dinner-as if I chose to be broken on the floor.

My sister, Chloe, bright and oblivious, called from the front door, offering ice cream, a lifeline I couldn't grasp.

"Ava's not feeling well," Mark lied, his voice dripping with fake concern for her ears, sealing me away.