“That punch–was for Eve. Ten years of her being mistreated.”
I was pressed into the corner, watching Magnus’s shirt buttons scatter across the floor, Sven’s brow split and bleeding.
Suddenly, a memory slammed into me. It was the night of my eighteenth birthday. Magnus had looked just like this, tearing off his tie–but back then, his eyes burned with a different kind of fire.
“Stop it!” I shouted. I grabbed Magnus’s raised arm, my nails digging hard into his palm. “If you thought I was so beneath you, then why did you marry me?”
I barked, “You knew how much I loved you back then!”
My words hit like a hammer and for the first time, both of them froze.
Silence swallowed the living room, except for the rising sound of rain pounding against the windows.
Magnus stared at me. His throat worked as if trying to find the right words. A flicker of panic crossed his face. He reached out, hesitant, as if trying to touch me–then stopped, his hand hanging midair.
“Eve… that’s not what I meant-”
“Enough.” Sven stepped in front of me, his jaw clenched, his voice cold. “She doesn’t want to hear it.”
Magnus shoved him. “You need to back off–she’s my wife!”
Sven didn’t respond. He had no ground to stand on. Not really.
Magnus’s face was bruised, his expression wrecked. He reached for me. “Come with me.” “I’m not going,” I said without hesitation. “I meant what I said about the divorce.”
Magnus locked eyes with me and I could see the turmoil there–rage, regret and something ugly he didn’t want to name.
Finally, he let out a bitter, hollow laugh and turned toward the door.
But just as he reached it, his phone rang. He answered–and in an instant, his expression shifted.
