Thomas Wayne visited Wayne Tower a lot after that. His employees had never seen him concerning himself with his business so much. Nearly every day he would stride past reception with a cheerful, "Good morning, Mary!" to his secretary, and then take the elevator to his office. He spent the rest of the day waiting for moments when he could make an excuse to head past reception again, or call her in to take a memo or deliver a message. It wasn't healthy, he knew that, but he couldn't help himself. He was absolutely crazy for her.

He would never dream of trying anything though – he couldn't take the risk that it might all go wrong, and she would quit, and then he would never see her again. The thought was almost unbearable, and so he satisfied himself with just being near her day after day. Every moment he spent with her, he liked her more and more. It wasn't just her exceptional beauty – she had the kindest, most generous heart he had ever seen. Compared to the type of women he was used to, the rich, selfish, and snobbish, she was a breath of fresh air, air that he now needed to breathe.

"Good morning, Mary!" he said as he entered Wayne Tower one morning a few weeks later. She was startled, and suddenly dropped the makeup she had been applying to her face, looking up at him. His face fell in horror when he saw that the makeup only partially covered up several ugly bruises on her face.

"What…" he began.

"Nothing. It's nothing," she said hastily, picking up the compact and pocketing it. "I tripped and fell down the stairs, clumsy…"

He caught her hand and she looked up at him, tears shimmering in her eyes. He studied her face gently. Thomas was a doctor, and the bruises were quite clear in their shape and definition. Someone had hit her.

"Who did this?" he asked, quietly.

"No one, I told you," she repeated firmly. "I tripped and fell down the stairs…"

"Please don't lie to me, Mary," he murmured. "I'm a doctor."

"It's…no one. It's nothing," she repeated firmly, ripping her arm away from him. "Nothing to concern yourself with, Thomas. Please just forget about it."

He wanted to do as she asked, but couldn't. After that, he noticed more and more that she wore clothing that would completely cover her arms and legs, even in summer. And he gradually realized that this was because, whenever a stray movement caused her skin to be exposed, that it was black and blue. He noticed the days when she wore thick makeup on her face to hide her black eyes and cut cheeks. He didn't want to believe that anyone had the heart to abuse this precious angel of a woman, but he couldn't hide from the facts. And nor could he let it continue without trying to put a stop to it.

He buzzed her into his office. "Mary, may I see you for a moment, please?"

"Right away, Thomas," she replied, and entered the room a second later. One of her eyes was swollen – the makeup couldn't conceal that. But she beamed at him as if nothing was wrong. "Yes, sir?" she asked.

"Please sit down, Mary," he said, gesturing across from him. "You've been working for me for a little while now, and I've just realized…we talk a lot and everything, but I don't know anything about your home life. Your family…your husband…you don't seem to speak about him."

Mary's smile fell. "Oh," she stammered, looking down at her hands and playing with them again. "Well, I guess it's just…never come up. What do you…uh…want to know?"

He studied her gently. "Is it just your husband?" he asked. "You don't have kids?"

"No," she said, gazing at the floor. "No, my husband…doesn't want children. And there's no arguing with him…about anything, really..."

She trailed off, tears filling her eyes.

"Do you want children?" he asked.

She wiped her eyes firmly. "It doesn't matter, because my husband doesn't," she repeated. "It takes two people to make a baby, and he would never consent to…"

She trailed off again. "What's your husband's name?" asked Thomas.

"Joseph," she said.

"Do you love him?" he asked, gently.

She gazed at him, shocked. "What kind of question is that?" she demanded. "Of course I love him! He's my husband! I wouldn't have married him if I didn't…love him!"

Tears streamed from her eyes, despite her best efforts to hold them back, and it broke Thomas's heart. He handed her his handkerchief and tried to soothe her, coming over to sit on his desk.

"Is he the one who hits you?" he asked, quietly.

"He doesn't mean to," she whispered. "He just drinks, and when he drinks he gets violent."

"Is he always drunk?" asked Thomas. "Because I've never seen you without bruises."

"He is, these days," she agreed, wiping her eyes. "He's out of work, and depressed. There's nothing I can do to help him. But he's not like this, not really. The man I married…wasn't like this."

"How old were you when you were married?" he asked.

"It was three years ago. I was…sixteen," she murmured. "Why?"

"Just…maybe when you're that young, you don't really know the person you're marrying," murmured Thomas. "You must have really loved him, though, to be so certain when you were so young that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him."

"It wasn't…my decision," she stammered. "He was…an associate of my father's – he…gave me to him. I think money was involved…I think…Joseph paid them…but my parents were both eager to get me out of the house as quickly as possible. I don't think they ever forgave me for not being a son and not being able to do useful, paid work. I thought…with the way they treated me at home, the…the beatings and the constant housework, that I was going to a better life as a married woman. But I still have…a lot of work to do at home."

Thomas had noticed her clothes were not only plain, but they were patched and repaired many times. "And you're still being beaten," he murmured, trying to hide the fury in his voice. The thought that this precious woman had been sold, like a slave, into slavery for another man, made his anger almost uncontrollable.

"I told you, it's only when he drinks," she whispered. "And he only drinks because he's depressed and out of work…"

"How long has he been out of work?" interrupted Thomas.

"It's been…two years now," she whispered. "It's hard for him…there aren't many jobs available these days…"

"So you work eight hours here, and then go home and work God knows how many hours there," said Thomas, quietly. "Do you ever sleep? Or have any time to…relax? Any time for yourself?"

"What would I do with time for myself? I'm not used to it…it would just be…weird." She forced a smile. "If you don't like calling me Mary, you can always call me Cinderella…"

"Don't joke about it," interrupted Thomas, coldly. "It's not funny. Not to me."

"You think it's funny to me?" she asked, quietly. "But it's my life, Thomas. And I have to cope with it somehow. Joking about it helps me do that. I mean, it is funny, isn't it? Can you imagine me as a fairytale princess?"

"Yes," murmured Thomas, gazing at her. "Yes, I can."

She laughed at what she presumed was a joke on his part. "What kind of princess looks and dresses like me?" she asked. "Except Cinderella before the ball, I guess. And even then, she was pretty…"

"You don't think you're pretty?" asked Thomas, shocked.

She looked down at her hands again. "Not compared to…other women. Especially the ones who work here. But I don't spend a lotta time thinking about it, really. I don't have the time for that kinda thing."

She stood up. "Is that all you wanted to see me about?"

"How long are you going to put up with being treated like this?" asked Thomas, quietly.

"Well…as long as it takes for Joseph to get back into work," murmured Mary. "And to stop his drinking. I try to help him get off the alcohol, but he...doesn't understand that's what I'm trying to do when I hide it, and it just makes matters worse. He gets so angry, and he won't stop until I tell him where it is...but once he gets another job, I'm sure he won't be like this."

Thomas nodded slowly. "Tell him to come here," he murmured. "I'd like to interview him for a position. It wouldn't be anything too interesting, probably janitorial type work, but I would see to it that he's paid a decent salary."

She stared at him. "You would do that…for me?" she whispered.

"I told you, anything I can do to help," he replied. "And it's more than I can stand to see you hurt."

"Oh…thank you, Thomas!" she gasped. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'll make sure he's dressed nicely, and presentable and…oh, Thomas, I don't know how to thank you!" she whispered, flinging herself into his arms and hugging him tightly.

Thomas returned the hug, shutting his eyes and savoring the nearness of her, the scent of her hair, and her beautiful body held tightly against his. She drew away, but he caught her, not able to bear the thought of parting from her just yet. She was confused – her wide eyes gazed up into his as her breathing sped up a little, her slightly parted lips seeming to beckon him in. He drew closer before he could control himself, her lips were inches from his, and their eyes were locked in a mutual gaze of fear and excitement.

He released her suddenly before he could go any further. "Uh…tell your husband to come here tomorrow at three," he stammered.

"Three," she repeated, nodding. "Ok…thank you, Thomas. I'll…see you soon."

She left him without another word, her body shaking. Thomas stared after her in longing, and then sighed heavily. "So I'll be seeing the husband tomorrow," he muttered, turning to stare out the window. "I hope I can refrain from punching him in the face."