Squinting my eyes, I try to wake my body up. My stomach turns as images from last night flash in my mind. I have never felt so dirty, nor been so relieved to be in a hot shower before. It took me hours to realise Michael must have planned what he did for some time. I should have known when he ordered the chrome frame for our bed. A person doesn't just suddenly buy something they have always hated. From his sudden interest in rape role play and BDSM pornography. Fetishes I never knew existed until I accidentally stumbled upon the websites he frequented whilst trying to find a website I had used some months before. Of course, he had no idea I knew about his secret habit. How could I have missed the clues? Left alone with my thoughts, I felt myself sink into a darkness. I had even contemplated not going to mother's, but that is out of the question. I have been every Saturday since dad died and I refuse to let her down. With her dementia getting worse with every passing year, I need to keep her routines the same as much as is physically possible anyway. Every Saturday for the last forty years of her life, has been more or less the same. Only now it is me that goes shopping with her and not dad. If I don't go with her no doubt she will panic that I, like dad, have left this earth without her. I cannot do that to her. A brave face and a fake smile and she won't notice. It's my own fault it happened; "A woman should not infuriate her husband, or he shall punish her as he deems fit" Michael had once told me, holding a bible to his chest. Having never read the bible myself I took his word for it. Now I am left questioning the existence of a God. Questioning the things Michael has told me over the past eight years. Questioning myself.

My body aches. Clearly the shower did little to help. Heaving a sigh, I drag myself out of bed. Grabbing a pair of trousers and a jumper from my wardrobe, I decide to skip a shower today. I feel a bruise emerging on my thigh and cannot bear to see it. Slipping my shoes on I pray Michael has already left for work. No such luck. He's in the kitchen, placing bacon and eggs onto a plate.

"I've done you breakfast darling. Eat up before it gets cold"

I can't look at him, alternatively sliding onto a stool in front of the breakfast bar. Picking at the food I feel a lump form in my throat. There is no way I can eat anything. Instead I move the food around my plate. From the corner of my eye I watch him pack his work bag and put on his coat. He checks his watch, sticks his phone in his pocket and makes his way to me.

"Don't forget it's my turn to cook dinner tonight. Have a good day. I love you" he kisses my cheek.

I flinch away, not returning our usual morning greeting to one another. How can he act so normal? My stomach flips once more. I wait until the door slams behind him before I allow myself to once again cry. Carrying the plate to the bin, I toss the food away. I can barely concentrate as I wash the dishes, no doubt doing a terrible job of it. Grabbing my phone and car keys, I leave the house, dreading my return later in the day.