"Good morning beautiful," Michael looks down at me, a huge grin spread across face. A grin that doesn't quite meet his eyes. Instead, a sadness swallows them. Or was it guilt? I force a smile in return, the smell of the pancakes bringing vomit to the back of my throat. The thought of eating anything is too much. I watch as he hands me the tray; a single rose delicately placed in a glass vase, the pancakes heaped on the plate, syrup oozing, a steaming mug of tea in our best china. I make no move to touch anything. 

"Come on baby, you need to eat. I'm sorry about my behaviour. I promise to be better. I made this breakfast special so that you could see how sorry I am and that I love you,"

His gaze softens. Perhaps his remorse is genuine. I mean, I did anger him after all. If I had just listened to him the first time I wouldn't have endured what I did. I can't bring myself to say the word. The 'R' word sounds too foreign and dramatic. Surely it couldn't be that anyway. Michael is my husband after all. He was right. When I made my vows I agreed to give myself to him fully. That had to include the bedroom as well as every other aspect of my life. 

I pick at the pancakes, his gaze burning into me. I smile as best I can before forcing myself to take a bite. It feels dry and indigestible in my mouth. It takes every ounce of strength to swallow that single bite. Michael seems pleased as I take another bite. 

"I'll leave you to eat. I'm going to get ready for work"

I say nothing as Michael grabs his suit and leaves me in the silence of the bedroom I no longer trust. In the bed who betrayed me. I stare at the tray in front of me, anger and humiliation brewing. Anger at myself for allowing the situation to occur. For not being a good wife and blaming Michael for actions I caused. I can't stomach the thought of eating another bite. Instead I wrap the food in toilet paper and hide it in my work bag, I make a mental note to throw it in the bin when I get to work. 

Getting out of bed is more exertive than usual, but finally I stand in front of my mirror dressed in a long sleeved top and ankle length skirt. Perfect for hiding the bruises on my wrists from the handcuffs. I undo the lid of my concealer and begin to cover the marks on my face. It's best Andrew doesn't see them. I can't deal with the questions and having to come up with a believable lie. With the accusations that would follow. That will have to do. I look presentable, only a tiny hint of red that I can easily explain if it is somehow noticed. I take in a breath, holding onto the bedroom door handle. Let's get this day over with.