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"He lost it. He started sobbing and apologizing. He told me it was an accident and broke down crying, telling me his dad had abused him and he'd sworn he'd never be like him. I think even then, some part of me knew he was lying."

It was a memory burned into my mind. Aaron on his knees, hugging my legs with his face buried against my stomach as he sobbed. My cheek throbbed, and I tasted blood where he'd split my lip. I should have walked out, but I couldn't leave him like that. I desperately wanted his words to be true. More than that, I wanted to be loved. I wanted it so badly that I forgave him. I wasn't completely stupid, though. Despite wanting to believe it, I started making my escape plan.

"How long did he last before it happened again?"

Of course he knew. They probably had entire classes devoted to domestic violence in Police 101. I'd studied it for the useless sociology degree I'd gotten in college when I couldn't find a major I liked better. I knew the signs, knew all the red flags and warning signs, but still, I told myself it wasn't the same. My relationship with Aaron was different. We were just going through a rough patch.

"A few months," I whispered. "He kept his promise, at first. He brought me flowers again. He took me on dates. He pampered me and spoiled me rotten. Classic love-bombing. I kept quiet, focused on cleaning and cooking and just keeping the peace, but even then, I was planning how to escape."

"What did you do?" he asked. At some point, Will had stopped taking notes, which somehow made this whole thing feel both more and less real.

"I went to the library while he was gone, so he wouldn't find anything on my phone or laptop. Every day he was at work, I was there. I talked to the bank and found a realtor. I got a small business loan and found the space I'm in now without him finding out a single detail."

In a small town like Lowery's Crossing, finding a job that could support me living on my own was almost impossible, so I'd summoned what little courage I had left and looked into setting up a new salon. I had to try again, for Marnie if not for myself. When the shop closed, the clients we'd had were forced to drive to the next closest salon, which was almost an hour away. The clients were there, if I could just get set up and convince them to give me another shot.

"What happened when he found out?"

"We were having dinner at home. He'd had a good day at work, and we were talking and laughing like we used to. I thought it would be safe to tell him I was leaving if he wasn't already upset." I'd never been more wrong about anything in my life, aside from my decision to forgive him the first time he hit me. "He completely lost it. He was screaming at me, calling me every name under the sun. When I tried to walk out the door, he grabbed me and shoved me into the wall. He hit me, but he didn't stop until I blacked out."

A shudder wracked my body and I swallowed back the taste of bile as my stomach churned. I'd truly believed I was going to die that night and that it was all my fault.

"Jesus," Will breathed. "How did you escape?"

"When I collapsed, I think he realized how badly he'd screwed up. He panicked and left. I'm not sure where he went or why, but it was long enough for me to leave. I went to my new building and hid there." He didn't know it was mine, which made it the safest place in town. Until that night, huddling alone on the floor, surrounded by paint buckets and construction materials, I hadn't realized how effectively Aaron had isolated me. I'd never been the most social person in the world, but I'd had a few people I considered friends. My time with Aaron had slowly but surely eroded those relationships until all I had left was him.

"I hate to ask, but did you go to the police after that?"

"I didn't at first. I was afraid he'd see me," I confessed, and an icy chill ran down my spine. "After sleeping on the floor of my empty building, I was finally mad enough to say something. If nothing else, I was hoping I could get a restraining order or something. The officer at the desk took me to see the detective and…"

Will sighed heavily. "Five years ago, the only detectives in town were Cuthbert and Rankin. I got the job when Cuthbert had a heart attack. Donovan took over for Rankin a few years later."

The ten minutes I'd spent alone in an office with Detective Cuthbert had been an exercise in humiliation. He must have assumed I'd gotten into a bar fight or something, which he apparently respected, because he'd listened attentively right up until I said the word 'boyfriend'. From that moment on, he made no effort to hide his disdain. He kept asking me why I hadn't defended myself with the undertone that I was wasting his time. After he smirked and asked me if I really wanted to drag this in front of a jury of my peers, I'd walked out without pressing charges.

"You can probably guess how it went when Cuthbert realized I was gay and trying to press charges on my boyfriend."

"I can imagine. I'm so sorry that happened to you, Quinn. Neither of them could ever let their prejudices go."

"After that, I just focused on hiding as long as I could. I installed cameras around the salon, and for the first few weeks I was open, I slept in the back hallway. Even after it started getting around that I owned the place, Aaron never showed up."

"Maybe he was afraid to push his luck? He could have, and should have, gone to prison."

"Maybe. I don't know, but I was just glad he was gone. I started picking up more business, and I was able to hire Lain when he came looking for a job a few months later. I thought it was over, that I was done with him for good, but about six months after the night he beat me up, he called me. I didn't answer, but he left a voicemail asking me what he should do with the things I'd left behind."

"Did you call him back?"

I shook my head. I'd actually had a full-blown anxiety attack when I saw his number pop up on my screen, so calling him had never been an option.

"I texted him. I had to leave everything behind when I left. The clothes and stuff I didn't care about, but there were old pictures of my mom from before she died, and I wanted them back. He said he had it all boxed up and sitting in the front hallway, so I figured it would be a quick trip. I thought if we met in the middle of the afternoon, it'd be safe. There are a lot of retirees in his neighborhood, so there'd be witnesses."

Everything I read online suggested having a police officer present for protection, but after what happened with Detective Cuthbert, I couldn't stomach going back there, so I'd hoped for the best while planning for the worst.

To say I was nervous when I approached his house was an understatement. I hadn't seen him since the night he attacked me, so his appearance shocked me when I arrived. He'd lost weight, and shadows darkened the skin beneath his eyes. He was painfully soft-spoken, not meeting my eyes, but he did help me load the boxes into my car, stacking everything neatly. He slipped beneath my guard so neatly that when he asked if we could talk one more time before I left, I agreed. I guess I was still hoping that he'd apologize and I could make myself believe it was just temporary insanity or something. I just didn't want to believe that I'd been so blind for all the years of our relationship.

He actually apologized, too, except this time I knew it was fake. I'd spent countless sleepless nights awake, staring up at the ceiling and examining every word he'd ever said, every whispered insult and denigrating comment, and realized far too late that every apology had just been him lovebombing me to keep me under his thumb.

That's what this felt like. Sitting on his couch, listening to him once again blame his childhood and claim he just loved me so much that it drove him crazy, I finally saw him for what he was: an abusive, gaslighting narcissist.

When he started in on how he missed having me in his bed, his words slipping from apologetic to borderline pornographic, I was done. I had my things, and I just wanted to leave and never see him again, and I told him that as I stood to leave.