I lifted my chin and laughed, cold and hollow.
Patrick saw that I refused to bend. He looked at June's red, swollen eyes, and his face went dark, fury filling every line.
"Since you won't repent, you can go sit in the storage room and think about what you've done. No one lets you out without my permission. No food. No water."
He waved the bodyguards over. They seized my arms and dragged me toward the storage room.
The door slammed shut. The lock clicked into place.
Darkness and cold swallowed me whole.
I leaned against the frozen wall.
Once, he would panic over a scraped knee. Now, weeks after a miscarriage with my body still wrecked, he locked me in a room cold enough to see my own breath.
They didn't let me out until the following evening.
Every muscle had seized. My thoughts drifted in and out of focus.
I dragged myself down the hallway toward my room. As I passed the master bedroom, the door sat slightly ajar. The sounds that spilled out were unmistakable, breathless moans and gasps, each one drilling into my eardrums like a needle.