Chapter 3: The Crimson Stains
The first time Julian hit her, he had wept afterward, blaming the stress of his corporate acquisitions. Clara had believed his apologies, foolishly hoping the man she loved was still buried somewhere beneath the rage. But the apologies stopped, replaced by a terrifying, sadistic enjoyment. The bruises on Clara’s pale skin became harder to hide. She wore long sleeves in the summer heat, layered cosmetics over the purple and yellow marks on her jaw, and prayed to whatever God was listening that the baby wouldn't feel the impact of her father's wrath. Every mirror in the house was a reminder of her failing disguise, reflecting a broken woman swathed in expensive silk.
