Page 4 of Wrapped in Perfection

Can I do anything right today?

My appointment with my new interior design clients ran late. I should have been home two hours ago, but I also was almost to the apartment when I remembered about the dry cleaning.

Mitch has a demanding work schedule and wants dinner on the table when he comes home. I only started my business a few years ago, and he makes more money than me. I made over six figures last year, but he calls it "a glorified hobby." He's a financial advisor, and his job is more important, so he expects me to take care of anything related to the house.

And I want to make him happy, so I do my best to make sure everything is clean and as he likes it.

The door slams, and I curse myself for not paying better attention today.

"Anna," he barks.

I run out to the living room and attempt to kiss him, but he turns his cheek.

"Hi. Did you have a good day?"

He scowls. "Why is your hair wet?"

"I-I got caught in the rain and was drying it but went to the kitchen to start dinner."

"To start dinner? It's seven o'clock." He scowls.

"I'm sorry. I picked up a new client today and—"

"A new client," he growls.

I nod and force a smile. "Yes. And—"

He pushes me back so I'm against the wall. "Did you sleep with him?"

"What?"

He fists my damp hair. "You fucking whore."

Tears blur my vision. "Mitch, no! I would never—"

He slaps my face so hard, I wonder if my cheekbone cracked. His watch slices my lip.

"Ow!" I scream. The metallic taste of blood hits my tongue.

His brown eyes turn almost black. He yanks my hair and spit flies out of his mouth. "You're a fat, little—"

"Piece of shit!" my brother, Chase, yells and pulls Mitch off me.

What is he doing here?

Chase lives in Chicago. He moved there over a year ago.

"Chase, no!" I yell as he pummels Mitch in the face.

The two men roll on the floor as I scream. The fight seems to last forever. There's so much blood, mostly Mitch's, and I think my brother will kill him.

The neighbor comes over to try and break it up and also calls the police. It takes all of them to break up the fight. The next few hours are chaotic. Mitch, Chase, and I are all questioned.

They take pictures of all of us.

A female officer takes me into the bedroom. "There's a safehouse I can take you to."

"That isn't necessary," I tell her through my tears. "It was just a misunderstanding. He didn't mean it."

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