Monday morning arrived like a punishment I already earned. I stood in front of the mirror for twenty minutes debating whether to call in sick. The bruises had darkened overnight-left eye socket a deep violet-black, lid so swollen I could barely open it, lip scabbed and cracked, jaw mottled purple. Heavy concealer helped, but only from the right angle. From the left I looked like I had lost a fight with a brick wall.

I did lose a fight. It just wasn't a fair one.

I wasn't going to let him have it So I dressed.

The orange dress Mateo had bought me-silk blend, fitted through the waist, flared at...