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He had told her that he never wanted to speak to her again, but she couldn't do as he asked, she couldn't stay away, even though she knew that it was what he wanted. "Okay," she thought to herself, "Let's do this." She got out of the car and noticed that her hands were shaking slightly as she locked the door.She stopped at the door to his building, her hand frozen inches from the call button. "Is this the right thing to do?" She knew the answer, she knew that she shouldn't be here but she closed her eyes and pressed the button. She heard a click, "Hello?" She said weakly expecting to hear his voice, but instead the door simply buzzed, allowing her to enter.She took the elevator to the sixth floor and nervously walked to his door. It opened as she raised her fist to knock and there he was. She drank him in, memories flooding back and for a moment she feared that she might burst into tears. "Don't," he said in a cold voice. "You can come in. I have a way for you to apologise. If that's. She’d obviously been crying. His heart ached to see her like that and he bent down to stroke her face. In her sleep she flinched as if expecting pain to follow. Then his eyes caught sight of something. Her wrist was bruised. Badly. He could see the outline of fingers. He called out her name in a tight whisper. ‘Joanna?’ She stirred but didn’t wake up. ‘Jo?’ he said a bit louder. Her eyes fluttered open. For a minute she was unsure where she was. ‘How long was I asleep?’ she muttered. Then looking up into Paul’s face she said more clearly, ‘Oh Hi Honey, you’re home. What time is it? Do you need lunch?’ ‘What happened to your wrist?’ he asked. He watched the emotions play on her face. Confusion. Embarrassment. Joanna wasn’t sure what to do. She had never let him see the marks he left. She never told him about what he did. Part of her was trying to protect him. She knew how he felt about men who abused their spouses, and despite their lack of a marriage certificate she was no less his.
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