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feel pretty. Now I find myself constantly keeping an eye on my weight, although I never fluctuate more than a few pounds, and the doctor tells me I should actually gain a few. And every now and then, when I'm in front of a mirror, I catch myself absentmindedly looking for the so-called flaws that Nathan sees on my face. My insecurities keep growing and adding up every time he brings up how much work I need to be his version of beautiful.
    His fingers drift down to my left wrist, and I inhale sharply. "I wish you would let me take care of this scar. I could make a clean revision, making it more consistent and almost invisible when it heals." His thumb absentmindedly trails over the raised skin. "It would be as if it never even happened."
    Yes, he would like that, wouldn't he? Everything is better, in his eyes, when it's brushed under the rug. I like the scar. It reminds me that I survived even if sometimes I wish I hadn't.
    When I don't respond, he eventually releases his grip on me and says, "Just order me my usual. I'm going to drink my wine out on the deck until the food arrives."
    I nod as he walks away. I release a long, shaky sigh, unaware that I had been holding my breath. Closing my eyes, I clutch the granite countertop. I only have to make it through a few more hours until he goes to sleep. I just hope he keeps the monster inside of him at bay until then.
     
    *
     
    We eat in silence. Nathan's phone buzzes for the fifth time in the past several minutes, and he glances at the screen. A slow smile spreads across his face. I wonder what or perhaps who is making him smile, but then I decide I don't care. I wouldn't be surprised if Nathan is cheating on me…again. I've never had concrete proof of an affair, but there have been several women I've been suspicious of over the years. Most of them have been his numerous secretaries, each one more stunning than the last. I have heard his colleagues make jokes about the revolving door to his office when it comes to Nathan's employees. He changes secretaries more often than his underwear, and I don't doubt that he fired them after growing tired of them sexually.
    In the past several months since my suicide attempt, he's barely touched me in the bedroom. I'm sure someone else is fulfilling his needs. Nathan isn't the type to just not want sex. I only wish I knew who was sleeping with my husband so I could write her a thank you note. Feeling his hands on me, the same hands that hurt me, makes me die a little inside. I can't find pleasure with him when he continues to give me so much pain.
    He puts down his chopsticks and stares at me from across the table. His smile doesn't waver, and I can't believe my good fortune. I broke one of his rules by being late, and he's actually being pleasant. "I forgot to tell you that I've been asked to be a guest speaker and presenter at a national medical conference in Seattle. I'll be gone for a week."
    I can't stop the surprise from registering on my face, but I quickly cover up the emotion with a forced frown. All I want to do is jump for joy, but I learned a long time ago how to fake my emotions when it comes to Nathan. He never sees the true me. Never .
    "I'm catching a flight Friday afternoon and won't be returning until next Saturday."
    I just have to make it through the rest of this week, and then Nathan will be gone for seven whole days. On the outside I appear sad, but inside I'm ecstatic. In the back of my mind, I have been planning for an opportunity like this for such a long time --- an opportunity to try to leave him…for good this time. He's been limiting his trips for out-of-state clients and watching me like a hawk since I tried ending my life six months ago. But I've been doing everything I could lately to get him to trust me all in preparation for a chance like this.
    He places his elbows on the table and steeples his hands, placing his chin on top of them. "I trust that you won't stray while I'm gone," he says with narrowed