CHAPTER 4

Carly sat in her darkened living room, drinking a glass of water, after having checked on Michael. She couldn't sleep. Her husband, Gregory, had called and said he wouldn't be home that night. Which was fine with her, she thought. The less she saw of him these days, the better.

But she knew he wasn't working late. She knew he was having an affair. Probably one of many he's had, she thought, and gave a harsh laugh.

She had married Gregory Sandifer, III, the owner of the interior design firm she had gone to work for when she was getting her life together after leaving Jason. She thought he was the man of her dreams, but he wasn't. After a blissful newlywed period, she soon discovered a jealous and possessive streak in him. He had been jealous of A.J. stopping by to visit his son. Carly had had to reassure him again and again that A.J., outside of being Michael's father, meant nothing to her. He finally gave up on that one and found something else to be jealous about, whether it was a client she was helping or another male employee whom he would see talking to her. But the response was always the same. She was encouraging them. It was her fault.

She had had her and Michael's bags packed more than once, but something always stopped her from leaving. His apologies, which had gotten so old, her insecurities, which still managed to surface, even after all this time, her fears of what would happen to her and Michael.

But after his latest stunt, she knew she had to make a decision.

She rubbed her thigh where the bruise was still sore.

He had come home drunk two nights ago, which, Carly thought, was not an unusual occurrence, when he bothered to come home at all.

She was grateful Michael was already asleep as they began one of their commonly occurring arguments about his drinking and what he perceived as her flirting with every man she came in contact with.

He had so infuriated her with his taunting and his cutting remarks about what she was good for that she had taken a swing at him.

But he had been too quick for her, even in his drunken state, and had grabbed her by the arm and had thrown her down. Her thigh had hit the corner of her vanity table as she tried to break her fall.

He had pushed her one more time while she was still down before he had left the house.

She rose from the sofa, trying to erase the horrible memory. It was the first time he had ever hit her, she thought, but the fire in his eyes terrified her. She now knew what he was capable of when he was provoked and out of control.

She had tried to shield Michael as much as she could, but she knew he was being affected. How could he not, she thought to herself, not for the first time. He never said much, but his eyes told her. She knew she had to make a decision, she reaffirmed as she headed back to her room, and she knew she had to make it soon.


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