“No,” I replied. “I protected myself.”
Mark stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “You can’t just leave. You owe me.”
I finally laughed, a dry, exhausted sound. “I owe you nothing. Not after last night. Not after every night you raised your hand and told me I deserved it.”
For the first time, he looked unsure. “It was just a slap.”
I lifted my sleeve, revealing the faint yellow bruises on my arm. “It was never just one.”
Linda stepped forward, lowering her voice into a threatening whisper. “You think life will be easy alone? Men don’t want damaged women.”
I met her gaze without flinching. “Then I’d rather be unwanted than abused.”
That afternoon, I packed one suitcase. Not everything—just what mattered. When I walked out the door, Mark didn’t follow me. He just stood there, furious and powerless, while Linda collapsed into a chair, muttering that I’d regret this.
But the regret never came.
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