MY HUSBAND THREW SCALDING HOT COFFEE IN MY FACE BECAUSE I REFUSED TO GIVE HIS SISTER MY BANK CARD, THEN LOOKED ME IN THE EYES AND SAID, “YOU EITHER OBEY OR YOU LEAVE”—SO I WENT TO THE HOSPITAL, SIGNED A POLICE REPORT, PACKED EVERYTHING I HAD PAID FOR, AND LEFT MY WEDDING RING BESIDE THE REPORT ON THE TABLE. WHAT WOULD DEREK DISCOVER WHEN HE CAME HOME EXPECTING TO FIND HIS “OBEDIENT” WIFE STILL WAITING FOR HIM? / Chapter 2 / 20

Chapter 2 - The Sound of Shattered GlassThe silence that filled apartment 14B was heavier than any argument Derek and Skylar had ever shared.

Suzanne trailed closely behind her brother, her high heels clicking sharply against the entryway tile, her face painted with that familiar, smug expression of entitled anticipation. She had her designer tote bag slung over her shoulder, ready to rifle through Skylar’s closet for the handbags and shoes she had demanded that morning.

“Well, it’s about time she learned her—what the hell?” Suzanne stopped dead in her tracks, her manicured hand flying up to cover her mouth.

Derek didn't move. He stood frozen in the center of the foyer, his eyes darting frantically around the living room.

The walls were bare where a framed oil painting of the Biscayne coastline—a gift from Skylar’s father—used to hang. The shoe rack by the door was completely empty. The coat hooks stood barren, wire hangers swinging gently in the draft from the open balcony door.

“Skylar!” Derek roared, his voice echoing hollowly against the bare walls. He stormed down the hallway toward the master bedroom, shoving the door wide open.

The walk-in closet was gutted. Not a single hanger remained. The jewelry organizer on the vanity was stripped clean down to the velvet lining. Even the plush bath towels Skylar had brought from her family home were gone.

Derek staggered backward out of the bedroom, his face turning an unhealthy, mottled shade of crimson. He rushed into the kitchen, his eyes darting to the countertops. The high-end espresso machine—the one he loved showing off to his insurance buddies—was missing, replaced only by a blank, dusty square on the marble slab.

“She... she cleared out,” Derek stammered, his chest heaving as adrenaline and blind panic flooded his system. “She actually took everything.”

Suzanne shoved past him into the dining room, her eyes wide with sudden, feral greed. “Who cares about the kitchen appliances, Derek?! Where is the bank card?! Did she leave her purse? Did she leave the safe combination?!”

It was then that Derek’s eyes landed on the exact center of the dining table.

Resting alone on the dark wood surface were two solitary items, illuminated by the fading amber rays of the Miami sunset streaming through the window.

A crisp, official police incident report bearing the emblem of the Miami Police Department, stamped in bold red ink: DOMESTIC BATTERY / SEVERE PHYSICAL ASSAULT.

And right beside it, resting in a small circle of cold light, was Skylar’s platinum wedding ring.

Derek walked toward the table as if walking toward a guillotine. His fingers trembled violently as he reached out and picked up the hospital medical report. His eyes scanned the terrifying, clinical terminology printed in stark black and white: Second-degree thermal burns to left malar region and cervical area. Patient states injuries were inflicted by spouse via projected boiling liquid.

“No,” Derek whispered, his voice cracking into a high-pitched squeak. “No, no, no. This is insane. She’s bluffing. She’s trying to scare us.”

Suzanne snatched the paper out of his hand, her eyes scanning the lines before her face twisted into an ugly, furious mask. “The ungrateful bitch! She went to the police?! Over a little coffee splash?! She’s trying to ruin your career, Derek! If your agency sees a domestic violence report, your insurance license is toast!”

Derek dropped heavily into one of the remaining dining chairs, staring blankly at the wedding ring resting between his palms. The metal felt ice cold.

“She left,” Derek muttered, his mind struggling to process a reality where Skylar was no longer his silent, obedient buffer against financial ruin. “She actually walked out. Without telling me where she was going.”

“Call her!” Suzanne shrieked, slamming her palm against the table. “Call her right now and tell her to get back here before I lose my wholesale delivery window!”

Derek fumbled frantically in his pocket, pulling out his smartphone and tapping on Skylar’s contact name. He hit dial.

It rang three times.

Then a crisp, automated Verizon recording cut through the speaker: “The subscriber you have dialed is no longer available to receive calls, or has blocked your number.”

Derek stared at the screen in stunned silence.

Suzanne crossed her arms, her lips pressed into a thin, angry slash. “Well, what are you waiting for, Derek? Get in your car. Go find her. Because if she thinks she can cut us off and keep this apartment, she’s got another thing coming. That’s our home now.”

Derek slowly lifted his head, staring at his sister with a hollow, dawning horror.

He didn't have the heart to tell her the truth yet.