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didn’t think so. No, all you want to ‘work’ on is turning me into your submissive little sex slave who fetches your slippers and strokes your goddamn ego,” she snarled the last of it, folding her arms across her middle.
                  Dylan hadn’t shaved and his stubble looked dark on a sickly pale face in the sunlight that came through the bay window of the breakfast nook. Coloring books, crayons and Tyler’s Hot Wheels littered the table and made their conversation feel revolting on so many levels. He swallowed and his adam’s apple jackknifed in his throat. “You’re a cold, nasty bitch.”
                  “The same cold nasty bitch you married.”
                  “No, no. No you’re not. You’ve changed, Jess. We’ve both changed – that’s what a marriage is.”
     
    Friday Morning
     
                  Willa screamed from the other side of the baby gate as the heavy crystal vase full of dying white lilies fell off the end table and shattered against the hardwood.
                  “No!” Dylan was not a big man, but Jess staggered to regain her balance, twisting wildly in an attempt to wrench free of the grip he held on her wrist. “Let go of me, son of a bitch!”
                  He pulled her against him, toward the sofa that had been his original destination. Their living room was all in beiges and browns, the morning sunlight skimming across the cherry floors. The kiss he’d tried to press to the back of her neck had been like a punch to the stomach, nausea flooding her system, fury fueling the slap she’d swung around and clapped to the side of his head.
                  “Stop it!” he roared.
                  The arm of the sofa caught her hip and sent her sideways, his hand the only thing that kept her upright, his fingers digging into her skin until she gasped. The tears that clouded her eyes had shit-all to do with sadness. Her heart lunged against her ribs.
                  “I will fight you,” she hissed as he tried to grab for her other hand. “I will kick and scream and I will claw your goddamn eyes out before you ever touch me again.”
                  Willa was crying – great big pealing baby cries.
                  Dylan went still, his eyes wild and rolling around in his head, his hand loosening around her wrist.
                  Jess snatched free and hurried across the room, scooped Willa up and tucked her little dark head in under her chin. “It’s okay, baby,” she cooed, her whole body shaking like she had palsy. Through a fallen sheet of her golden hair, she watched Dylan watch them, his expression uncomprehending. Jess rocked her niece. “It’s okay. I promise it’s okay.”
     
    Monday Morning
     
                  Walt’s attorney friend didn’t handle divorces, but his colleague Amanda did. She had a severe blonde bob and a smart black suit, just the right amount of makeup. The rings that glittered on her fingers were evidence of cases won and settlements gained. Her office was done in a minimalist tribute to frosted glass and chrome. Her diplomas were arranged on the wall behind her head.
                  “Your husband,” Amanda said over her reading glasses, “is wealthy and he was unfaithful. Your settlement’s going to be good, Jessica.”
                  Jess smoothed her hands down the fronts of her black slacks and saw how badly her nails were in need of new polish. Her reflection that morning had shown that her makeup did a poor job covering the dark circles under her eyes. She looked every one of her almost thirty-two years. Confused, depressed, Tyler had pitched a rare rolling-and-kicking fit about going to school. Ellie was keeping Willa for the day.
                  “I don’t care about the settlement,” she said flatly as she squared up her shoulders