Daniel huddled in a kitchen corner of his house. Of their house. Really it was her house and one didn’t argue with her. The lights were on but dim. She didn’t like bright lights. They hurt her eyes. That wasn’t the reason that the blinds and curtains were closed though, nor why the mail and newspapers were piling up outside.

Daniel hadn’t been outside of his home in three weeks. He was living off of scraps of whatever she brought home and canned food from the cupboards. He was down to Raviolis and Spam. They were soft foods and didn’t need to be chewed much.

Daniel wasn’t allowed to go out because people would notice his wounds and they’d ask questions. More importantly they’d talk. Talk about her. She didn’t like to be talked about.

He hadn’t thought that she would be this way when he married her. He would’ve laughed if anyone had tried to warn him about her temper. She was only five foot four. Who knew that she swung a mean extension cord?

The front door opened.

“Daniel. I’m home.”