Fini

People say that love makes everything perfect. And I suppose it does, until my husband gets home and it seems I've forgotten something.

Something little like his socks aren't folded right or the spaghetti didn't have enough garlic on it, though his view on the correct amount changes daily.

Sometimes, when he gets home really late, I pretend I'm asleep so he'll leave me alone. It never works, and in the morning, I nurse a fresh batch of bruises.

Yesterday, Grace came over unexpectedly.

She saw the marred skin and broken nose and called the police. Which, of course, did nothing. Why would any of Robert's friends believe he beat his wife? Why just last week he got another medal for courage.

Robert found out.

He's tearing up the kitchen now. My boy's crying in his bed. The neighbors ignore it as always.

I pick up Robert's gun and start for the door. He screams at me from the kitchen and picks up a pan.

"Beth let her sister embarrass me. You just had to show her, didn't you bitch?"

I lift my hand and aim, "Yes".