But when his hand struck my face, something inside me didn't just break; it crystallized.
Five minutes passed. The tension in the air was so thick it felt like it was choking us. Daniel began pacing the floor, running his hands through his perfectly styled hair, muttering curses under his breath. He looked at the front door, then at me.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Daniel suddenly blurted out, dropping to his knees a few feet away from me. “I lost my temper. It was work stress. You know how much pressure I’m under. I’ll buy you that diamond tennis bracelet you looked at last month. Just… just cancel the call. Tell them it was an accident. Please.”
I tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. “A tennis bracelet for two broken ribs? You always were terrible at valuations, Daniel.”
Before he could respond, the living room windows were suddenly bathed in a rhythmic, flashing wash of red and blue light. The sirens hadn't wailed—they had approached silently to avoid escalating a domestic violence situation—but the reflection of the police cruisers against the glass hit Daniel like a physical blow.