The cloying scent of lilies permeated the air throughout the living room. Like Michael's profuse apologies, they lingered unpleasantly. He could not have been kinder or more attentive afterwards, and he was ever so remorseful, extremely sorry and apologizing over and over to Angela. For her part, Angela had never been so overwhelmed with her husband's recriminations. He bought her flowers and then presented her with a very expensive bracelet from Tiffany's. She'd regarded the ruby and gold bracelet, admiring its beauty, but not its significance. For no matter its price, shine and extravagance, it could not erase the bruise she now sported on her upper left cheek where Michael had struck her.

She put her hand to her face and winced. Her skin felt hot and swollen to the touch, and when she looked in the mirror, she felt an indescribable sense of failure. For Angela had never thought of herself as one of those women, or her marriage as abusive. In her years with Michael prior to the time he had deserted her, he had not done much more than shout at her. Once, he had pushed her, and the very worst he had done was punch her on the arm. But she had dismissed those incidents. As long as her husband knew he had an upcoming trip to an exotic location, he was happy. The longer he spent in Connecticut, the more surely he became, prone to begin arguments. Now, he was downright jealous, and it seemed that Tony was the object of his ire.

Tony. Angela had to pick up Jonathan that afternoon. Already, she had called in sick to work, unable to hide the unsightly bruising. She wouldn't be able to pick up her son. No. She would have to send Michael to do it. The thought made her panic and her stomach recoiled. No, that would not work either. Michael was liable go at Tony, argue with him, provoke a fight. She would simply wear her huge 1970's sunglasses to hide the bruise. They were somewhere in the house; she only needed to find them. The glasses and heavy makeup would have to do the trick because there was no way in hell she was sending Michael over to Tony's place.

Jonathan was somewhat morose that afternoon at Tony's. He barely picked at his food and refused to go swimming in the palatial indoor pool. Tennis didn't interest him either, and he didn't want to visit the horses with Samantha. He sat at Tony's kitchen table staring at his homemade granola bar, a forlorn look on his small face.

"Hey Buddy, you okay?" Tony had taken the boy's homework out of his backpack and tried to interest him in finishing his math sheet. Seeing that Jonathan showed no inclination in doing his homework, and that the granola bar sat uneaten, Tony began to worry. He placed a gentle hand across the little boy's forehead but it was cool to the touch.

"I'm just tired," the boy replied. "And you don't have to check me for fever."

"So you been feeling out of sorts today, kiddo? What's wrong? First no snack, and now no homework?" Tony shook his head.

"I think it's my tummy," he replied.

"You have a stomach ache?"

"Yeah, and I'm not hungry either," Jonathan said.

"Did you tell your Mom this morning?" Tony asked, confused as to why Angela had sent the boy to school at all.

"I didn't get to see Mommy this morning. Daddy got me breakfast." The boy let out a deep sigh. His face was paler than usual and he began picking at his fingernails.

Tony recognized anxiety when he saw it, and he knew that Jonathan had a nervous stomach. He stood up and fetched a can of Ginger Ale that he kept handy in case of a stomach flu hitting the household. "Here, drink this."

Jonathan popped the tab open and took a deep sip. "Thanks Tony. My Mommy always gives me Ginger Ale when my tummy feels funny."

"Talk to me, Kiddo. What's going on?"

No answer.

"Jonathan, I'm kinda worried here. What's going on?"

Jonathan took another sip of Ginger Ale and fixed Tony with sad hazel eyes. "Daddy isn't very nice to Mommy sometimes," he said. He looked down at his fingernails again and began picking them hard. One fingertip began to bleed.

'Oh ouch, Jonathan don't do that!" Tony admonished him. He pulled the boy's hands away from him and examined the bitten and picked nails, evidence of new and older injuries.

"I can't help it," he moaned. "My tummy hurts, Tony. I think I'm going to throw up like Mommy does."

"Okay, okay, come 'ere. Let's get you to the bathroom, okay?" Tony helped Jonathan up and walked him to the bathroom. There, he lifted the toilet seat and had Jonathan sit on the edge of the tub beside it. "If you need to throw up, do it in there!" he pointed.

Jonathan leaned over the toilet bowl, and retched and gagged but nothing came up. He sat back down, his face sporting a greenish tinge.

"Maybe you caught what your mother has," Tony suggested, still hoping it was a stomach bug.

"No, I don't think so. Mommy is pregnant," he replied.

Tony winced at the words even though he wasn't terribly surprised. "Your mom is pregnant?" he asked, just to be sure.

"Yeah, I overheard my parents talking about it."

"Oh. So, they haven't told you themselves yet?"

"No. I don't think they want me to know. But I should know because I'm going to be a big brother."

Tony took in Jonathan's depressed and anxious demeanor and was puzzled by it. "Well aren't you happy about that? Being a big brother and all?"

"I dunno," came the wilted reply.

"How come?" Tony needed to get to the bottom of this. Jonathan seemed downright unwell with the news. Tony himself was feeling somewhat nauseated himself.

"I don't want him to hurt the baby," he finally said, tears sliding down his face.

"Whoa, whoa. You don't want who to hurt the baby?" Tony clenched his fists.

"Daddy."

Tony took step back and stood straighter. "Does your Daddy hurt you, Jonathan? You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"I can?"

"Yeah, 'cause I'm your friend. And I'm a safe grownup for you if you ever need to talk about anything that's bothering you. Just like when I lived at your house, okay?" Tony paused before adding, "And your mom trusts me. She put you in my care. So while you're in my care, Jonathan, I'd really like to help you."

"Okay," he said in a small voice.

"Okay, so tell me why you think your Daddy might hurt the baby. Does he hurt you?"

"No, not me."

"Oh, then who?" Tony braced himself for the reply.

"He hurt my mom," the little boy finally admitted, before a fresh torrent of tears came rushing out of him. He flung his tiny body at Tony and wrapped his arms around his neck. Tony held him tightly, letting him sob his little heart out. "She stayed in bed this morning because of her face," he said.

"What happened to her face?"

"Daddy hit her, and it made her cheek look all weird after. It was really red and puffy," Jonathan explained. "I heard them fighting in the kitchen last night. Then I went in and Daddy had just hit Mommy. He made her cry, Tony," he said through trembling lips. "I was so scared." Jonathan did not know how to describe to Tony that seeing his strong mother looking weak and frightened had shocked him to his core. Being that he was only seven years old, he did not possess the vocabulary to express his horror, sadness and fear. The only thing he did know for sure was that Daddy was not safe. He also knew that Tony was safe, and he relished the feeling of security now as Tony held him and let him cry.

For his part, Tony was also awash in horror and sadness, and fear for Angela's well-being. Tony had known domestic abusers back in Brooklyn, living in the same apartment buildings, able to hear the screams and shouts. He remembered seeing their wives the next day sporting black eyes. But never would he have thought that Angela could possibly become a victim herself. He associated that type of abuse with poverty, cramped living quarters, too many kids, hot-blooded tempers and alcohol. The verdant, wide open space of Connecticut's wealthy had led him to believe, falsely, that those men didn't hit. That perfectly coiffed Connecticut ladies nursed their cups of tea, not their bruised faces. He realized at this moment that he did not know much at all about anything. If Angela could be a victim of domestic abuse, that meant any woman, in any situation, no matter how professionally successful, fine and rich, could also be on the receiving end of fists. The thought made him recoil. And during pregnancy no less.

After Jonathan's meltdown in the bathroom, Tony carried him to the couch and turned on his own small TV. He found some children's programming and gave Jonathan a plate of saltines to munch on. And he waited for Angela to come pick him up.

She arrived early this time, sporting ugly, enormous sunglasses and too much blush on her face. Tony was not fooled.

"Can we talk?" he asked as she came in, her head low.

"Now? I'm kind of in a hurry," she said, facing her feet so he would not see her face.

"It's really important," Tony told her. He touched the tip of his fingers to her chin and slowly lifted her face to his own.

Angela tried to turn away from him, but he held firm.

"You can take those off," he said, of the sunglasses.

"I'd rather keep them on," she said.

"They're ugly," he replied.

"Tony!"

"But not as ugly as what they're hiding. Am I right?" Tony gently plucked the offending glasses off of Angela's face, then stared aghast at the purple bruising along her upper cheekbone. Her face was swollen and red, and she looked away from him, ashamed.

"Angela …" he began.

"Please don't," she started. If he was kind to her now, she was liable to break down.

"Let me see that shiner. Ow. Michael gave you that?" Tony led Angela to the kitchen. He took out some ice cubes and placed them in a dish towel. "Here, put that on it."

"How did you know?" She asked, weary and oddly grateful.

"Jonathan. He knows everything, Angela."

"Oh my goodness, my poor baby. Where is he?"

"Watching TV. Just let him rest a moment. His tummy was bothering him. The kid is stressed out," Tony informed her. He felt badly then, for her mottled face sported such a guilty expression. "It's not your fault, Angela."

"Yes, it is. I let Michael come back and stay. And like a fool, I tried to make my failed marriage work. I should have thought of the effect that would have on my son." She removed the ice pack and gingerly touched her cold cheek. It still stung and she winced.

"Kick him out, Angela."

She shook her head. "It's not that simple," she said. "He's not going to want to leave."

"I can make him," Tony told her, his threat implicit. He shook his fist. "If Michael wants to hit someone, he can try hitting me. But I can assure you, he won't get very far."

"Tony, more violence isn't going to solve this."

"Angela, you don't need him. You already lived without him and you did fine."

"I had you to help me," she reminded him.

"And I could always come back," he told her.

"What about College?"

"I can still go to College. Cleaning your house is hardly a full-time job, Angela."

"Yes, you must go to College," she said.

"So does that mean you're going to kick him out?" Tony held his breath.

She busied herself with the ice pack and did not answer right away. When she finally found the words, she was unsure of them. "It's complicated, Tony."

"What's complicated? He hit you, Angela. And Jonathan is a mess about it. Poor kid was retching, crying, and picking his nails 'till they bled."

"Oh, my poor baby," she moaned. "I'm going to take him home now." She began to stand up.

"Wait, Angela. Just wait. Promise me you'll kick Michael out."

She faced him squarely and shook her head. "You don't understand, Tony. Michael is not simply going to leave because I ask him to. He wants to stay. He has been apologizing all day and he feels absolutely terrible about what he's done."

"So, what, you're gonna let him stay because he feels bad? What if he hits you again?" Tony put his hands on her shoulder. "I want you and Jonathan to be safe. Not to mention …"

"Not to mention what?"

"You know." He nodded at her tummy.

"What? How could you possibly know?" She turned beet red, her blush matching the swollen patch on her face.

"I told you already. Jonathan. The kid knows everything." His words had a harsh effect on Angela, and her lip began to tremble.

"Jonathan overheard us? Oh, dear. Tony, the baby is one of the reasons Michael is not going to want to leave. It complicates things. Having a second child was his idea."

Tony studied her for a moment. He took in her thinner figure, the dark circles beneath her eyes, her pallor beneath the bruising, and her anxious stance. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate her now with his demands. "Angela, I'm worried about your safety. Yours and Jonathan's, and that unborn baby's."

"I know, I know, you see this bruise, and you think Michael is going to do it again, but he's not going to, Tony. You have no idea how awful he felt today. Look what he got me." She held out her wrist and showed him the ruby bracelet. "He apologized at least a hundred times and spent a fortune on this bracelet."

"And you think that means he wouldn't do it again?" Tony shook his head.

"I don't think he would dare," she said.

"Angela, do you want to stay with him?" Tony asked her. He simply could not understand why she didn't kick her husband to the curb.

Angela chewed her lip. She looked up into Tony's solemn eyes and said, "I don't know what I want for myself right now. But Michael begged me for another chance. And the truth is that I do want my children to have a father."

"One more chance? What does that mean?"

"It means strike two and he's out," she stated. "If he ever lays a hand on me again, I'll kick him out so fast, his head will spin."

Tony looked at her with apprehension but said nothing.

"I'm going to take Jonathan home now," she told him, as she walked toward the living room. The little boy had fallen asleep in front of Sesame Street and was curled up on the couch, in the fetal position.

"Maybe you can stay a bit longer and let him nap?" Tony suggested.

Angela shook her head. "No, Michael is waiting for us. Can you carry him to the car, please?"

"Alright." Tony gently picked Jonathan up, enveloping him in his strong arms. He followed Angela out to her car and tucked the child into the back seat, then buckled him in.

"You might want to talk to the kid about all of this. He knows too much, Angela."

"I realize that now, and I feel terrible about it," she replied.

But not terrible enough to leave, he thought to himself. Still, he was afraid to push her away to the point where she might not confide in him, or worse, listen to Michael and return Jonathan to after-school care. He could not let that happen, because right now, he felt like the kid's guardian angel. Angela's too. Before Angela got into the car, Tony stopped her. "Promise me that if you feel unsafe, you'll call me."

"Tony, that won't be necessary …" she began, but he cut her off.

"Promise me, Angela. I'm serious."

"Alright, if it'll make you feel better, I promise to call you if I ever feel unsafe."

"Ok then, be careful." He wished her a good night and stood on the driveway watching as she drove away into the twilight.