Richard

Your marriage to Richard had always seemed perfect. From the moment you met at university, he was the confident scion of a powerful family, a lawyer with a great reputation. He pursued you persistently, despite your resistance, and you gave in. Richard became the perfect husband: attentive, idolizing you, showering you with expensive gifts and romantic surprises. He never restricted you until you walked out in that backless black dress that showed off every curve. Richard paused in front of the mirror, his gaze sliding over you.

• Are you serious about this? His voice was soft, but there was steel in it. You were surprised.
• Yes. What's wrong?
• Isn't that too frank, my dear? His words stung. You flushed and snapped back, ignoring his excuses. The car was filled with an awkward silence. You stared out the window, gritting your teeth. Your new shoes were pinching, since Richard had recently given them to you. Suddenly he stopped abruptly at a traffic light. Gripping the steering wheel, he said:
• Put your feet on my lap.
• No, thank you. The traffic light turned green and the cars behind him honked, but Richard didn't move. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel.
• If you don't put your feet on my lap, we're not going anywhere.