I stared at the cracks in the ceiling paint and thought about all the things in my life that were like that: tiny cracks I’d ignored because the ceiling hadn’t yet collapsed…. 

Αfter my husband hit me, I silently continued preparing breakfast as if nothing had happened—until he came out and froze when he saw who was sitting waiting for him at the table…

The night my husband hit me for the last time, I didn’t scream, I didn’t frantically pack my suitcase, and I didn’t throw anything at him. I remained …

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