She blinked, her tears once again blurring her vision. Her hands trembled as she stared at the black and white boxes, most of them empty save the printed date in the upper corner. No one used paper calendars anymore, she thought with a sigh. Again and again she counted the days, somehow praying that this time the answer would be different, but each time, her stomach seemed to sink further. In another time, in another life, with another man, this would be a miracle—the biggest blessing of all. Now—it terrified her, but it also made one thing very clear. It had to stop. Now. She closed her eyes as she thought back to the events of the night before…

She sat in the car at the end of the driveway, her eyes trained on her bedroom window. The light still shone bright behind the curtains. Carl was still awake. Phyllis shifted in the seat with a deep sigh. When had she become this person? When had she resorted to trying to outwait her fiancé before going inside? It was late. It was cold. The only thing she wanted was to go inside and take a warm shower. She needed to wash this day off of her. It had been day filled with endless meetings and stubborn clients and, even though she'd intentionally stayed later at the office than she needed to, she was now more than ready to call it a day.

You have nothing to apologize for, she silently repeated to herself as she made her way to the front door. But she would…and she knew it.

"Thought you were planning to sleep out there." His curt statement caught her off guard and she jumped a bit as he stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"Carl," she breathed, "I thought you'd be in bed by now."

"Thought or hoped?" he sneered. "No, I was busy watching you." He reached for her bag, snatching it towards him despite the fact it was wrapped around her arm.

"Oww," she hissed, "What the hell?" She watched in frustration as he reached into her bag, grabbing her phone and instantly scanning her recent calls.

He looked up at her. "Deleted it, huh?"

"Deleted what?"

"The calls…I know you were talking to him."

She shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about." She took a wary step back, already seeing where this was going. She could smell the liquor on his breath and she could only imagine the last few hours had been ample opportunity for him to conjure up plenty of stories of what she could have been doing. It hadn't always been this way…not in the beginning, but things were always good in the beginning she supposed.

About a year ago, when things had really reached a boiling point, she'd walked out for a few weeks and he'd seemingly recognized the seriousness of it all. He'd gone to counseling on his own and then they'd together. He'd signed up for anger management and quit drinking. Since then, things had been better—certainly less volatile and then—she found the bottle…the first one.

"Don't play dumb with me!" She felt his hand grip her wrist and she jerked away from his grasp.

"You're drunk," she spat. "I can't talk to you when you get this like this."

He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her towards him. "Well that's just too bad for you." The liquor was heavy on his breath as he loomed over her. "I know you were out there talking to him…planning your next little rendezvous. You didn't get your fill in tonight?"

"Carl—you're hurting me. She stepped back again, mindful of the furniture in the room. These were the things you learned after living through this for so long. "I was working. I had meetings that's all."

"You know how much it pisses me off when you lie to me!" He screamed, pushing her hard, her body taking the brunt of the blow in her ribcage.

She went limp, allowing her body to fall onto the sofa. It was best not to engage him when it got like this. She stayed there, completely silent—she wasn't sure how long. After a while, she could hear his steps as he walked away. Later, she walked upstairs and crawled into bed. She cringed as she felt his arms wrap around her, his breath warm on her face as he whispered an apology in her ear. She didn't respond. She simply closed her eyes and prayed sleep would come quickly tonight.

But it wasn't about her anymore. Her pride came second to this. She was a mother first.

She took a look in the mirror as she passed by the dresser, carefully ensuring no bruises were visible. Carl's voice was barely audible from his office down the hall and she knew he'd be taking business calls all morning. That would give her time, time to get answers, and time to make a plan.

Phyllis leaned back in the iron chair as she took a slow sip from the mug.

"Well that's different."

She jumped, Billy's hand on her shoulder startling her.

He walked around to the other side of the table. "Sorry," he whispered, his eyes immediately searching hers, "Didn't mean to startle you…just not used to seeing you with anything but your usual here." He gestured towards her mug of herbal tea. "What's got you changing things up?"

"Oh—just wanted something different, that's all." Her mind flashed to the bag beside her, and she leaned over quickly to make sure the contents weren't visible. Her still tender ribs ached as she moved and she couldn't conceal the pain that flashed across her face. She drew in a quick breath as she sat up slowly.

"Hey," he reached across the table, his hand warm as it rested on hers. "You okay? You look like you're hurting."

"I'm fine..really." Damn him and his instincts. Billy had always been able to pick up on her emotions. She couldn't hide from him.

"No, I've seen you fine," he grinned, "and this isn't it." His thumb stroked her fingers. "So, just tell me what's going on."

"Billy," she sighed, "Honestly, it's not anything. There's no conspiracy here…just a cramp in my side…that's all." She could see the doubt in his eyes and she knew he wasn't buying this for a second. If she didn't get out of here soon, he'd be pressing her further. "Actually, I have to go," she muttered, "I can't stay…"

Billy nodded, standing up and walking over to her side. "At least let me get this for you." He leaned down, moving to pick up her bag.

"No, Billy—don't!" She lunged, wincing and grabbing her side as she jerked the bag away from him. She pulled her body up straight again, forcing a smile. "You don't have to take care of me all the time. I'm okay." Her eyes locked with his for a moment and she saw the questions there. All she'd have to do was say the word and it would all be over. He'd take care of her and she'd never have to worry about Carl again, but this wasn't Billy's fight. She got into this and she should be the one to get herself out.

"I'll see you," she whispered, a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Phyllis." He reached around her, carefully grabbing her wrist and pulling her gently towards him. He stepped in close, letting his head fall to her ear.

She closed her eyes as she remembered Carl whispering in her ear in much the same way the night before—how different the feelings were.

"I know you," he whispered, "and I know when you're lying to me. You aren't fine. Something's going on and for whatever reason you don't want to tell me, but when you're ready, I'll be here." He held her close to him for another moment, feeling her shaky breathing. He felt her nod slowly before letting her go.

Billy watched her walk from the building as he slowly returned to the table. "It's those damn shoes," he whispered out loud, "Who the hell could walk in shoes like that and not hurt…." He nodded as he took a seat. "It's gotta be the shoes." Though, the more he said it, the more the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach seemed to grow.

She slowly walked into the house, each step bringing more tension into her body. "Carl?" she called, preferring to know where he was rather than experience the element of surprise again. She felt relieved when she received no answer. Phyllis stepped into the living room where she saw the slip of paper sitting on the coffee table.

Have a meeting. Be back soon.

Would be nice if you'd tell me the same—common courtesy. Try it.

Carl

Normally she'd be angry, but today she couldn't be anything but relieved. Though she had no idea how long he'd been gone, or when he'd return, she knew she had to work fast. She moved towards the bedroom, stepping into the bathroom quickly and pulling the paper bag out of her purse. In two minutes she'd know for sure, though in her heart, she already knew—and in really didn't matter. She had to leave. This wasn't a life, not for her, and certainly not for a child.

Quickly, she threw some clothes in a bag. Now wasn't the time to worry about being particular. She needed to be ready. She needed to get out. If she could do it before he got back, that was much better. Her eyes drifted to the clock on the wall and she knew it was time. Her feet felt heavy as she walked towards the bathroom, her hands resting on the countertop. She took a breath before she lifted the stick, her mind already resigned to the results she knew she'd find. Tears streamed down her face as she saw the double line and she knew her choice was made. Quickly, she dropped the test into the bin and headed back towards the bedroom. As she pulled the clothes from the bottom drawer, she heard the sound of Carl's car in the driveway.

Her body moved towards the closet, her heart sinking as she realized her worst night might be still to come. She knew it was there. Carl cleaned it in front of her often, explaining the intricacies of the Smith and Wesson revolver to her as he did. It was as if he was threatening her indirectly. She'd never wanted to touch it, but, as she held it in her hands, surprised at how amazingly light it was, she felt the power shift.

This was ending—tonight—one way or the other.