The wood of the bathroom door groaned under the impact of Daniel’s palm.
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Inside the suffocating, dimly lit space, the air felt thick, smelling faintly of lavender soap and the metallic, sour tang of the poison coursing through my veins. Every breath felt like inhaling ground glass. My stomach twisted in a violent spasm, but I clamped my hand over my mouth, swallowing down the bile. I couldn’t make a sound. Not now.
“Rachel!” Daniel’s voice came again, dropping an octave, losing every shred of the charming, upper-middle-class husband persona he had maintained for eight years. “I know you’re holding the door. Don’t make this harder than it already is. You’re only delaying the inevitable.”
