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unusual ,” her counselor at the Battered Women’s Help Center had said, “ because frequently an abuser and his victim are both fully engaged in the struggle to dominate each other. How triumphant do you feel when he’s in the apology-and-wooing phase of the abuse cycle? Why do you think you haven’t left before now?”
    It had taken Carrie so long to accept that. And here it was again. Here Jim was again.
    “How did you get in?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “You got Kelsey to let you in, didn’t you?” The building super could be bribed to almost anything with a bottle of Scotch. Although maybe Jim hadn’t needed that; he had a badge. Not even the charges she’d brought against him, all of which had been dropped, had affected his job. Nobody on the outside ever realized how common domestic violence was in cops’ homes.
    Jim wasn’t in uniform now. He wore jeans, boots, a sports coat she’d always liked. He held a bouquet of flowers. Not supermarket carnations, either: red roses in shining gold paper. “Carrie, I’m sorry I startled you, but I wanted so bad for us to talk. Please, just let me have ten minutes. That’s all. Ten minutes isn’t much to give me against three years of marriage.”
    “We’re not married. We’re legally separated.”
    “I know. I know . And I deserve that you left me. I know that now. But just ten minutes. Please.”
    “You’re not supposed to be here at all! There’s a restraining order against you—and you’re a cop!”
    “I know. I’m risking my career to talk to you for ten minutes. Doesn’t that say how much I care? Here, these are for you.”
    Humbly, eyes beseeching, he held out the roses. Carrie didn’t take them.
    “You blackened my eye the last time we ‘talked,’ you bastard!”
    “I know. If you knew how much I’ve regretted that . . . If you had any idea how many nights I laid awake hating myself for that. I was out of my mind, Carrie. I really was. But it taught me something. I’ve changed. I’m going to A.A. now, I’ve got a sponsor and everything. I’m working my program.”
    “I’ve heard this all before!”
    “I know. I know you have. But this time is different.” He lowered his eyes, and Carrie put her hands on her hips. Then it hit her: She had said all this before, too. She had stood in this scolding, one-up stance. He had stood in his humble stance, as well. This was the apology-and-wooing stage that the counselor had talked about, just one more scene in their endless script. And she was eating it up as if it had never happened before, was reveling in the glow of righteous indignation fed by his groveling. Just like the counselor had said.
    She was so sickened at herself that her knees nearly buckled.
    “Get out, Jim.”
    “I will. I will . Just tell me that you heard me, that there’s some chance for us still, even if it’s a chance I don’t deserve. Oh, Carrie—”
    “Get out!” Her nauseated fury was at herself.
    “If you’d just—”
    “Out! Out now!”
    His face changed. Humility was replaced by astonishment—this wasn’t how their script went—and then by rage. He threw the flowers at her. “You won’t even listen to me? I come here goddamn apologizing and you won’t even listen? What makes you so much better than me, you fucking bitch you’re nothing but a—”
    Carrie whirled around and grabbed for the deadbolt. He was faster. Faster, stronger, and that was the old script, too, how could she forget for even a half second he—
    Jim threw her to the floor. Did he have his gun? Would he—She caught a glimpse of his face, so twisted with rage that he looked like somebody else, even as she was throwing up her arms to protect her head. He kicked her in the belly. The pain was astonishing. It burned along her body she was burning she couldn’t breathe she was going to die . . . His boot drew back to kick her again and Carrie tried to scream. No breath came. This was it then no no no —
    Jim crumpled to the