Chapter 1 - The First Strike
He laughed.
It was a harsh, mocking sound that echoed loudly in our quiet suburban bedroom.
His large hand swung heavily down toward my face with terrifying, blinding speed.
He fully expected me to flinch in sheer terror and beg for his mercy.
He desperately wanted me to cower like all of his previous helpless victims.
Instead, I kept my eyes wide open and pivoted cleanly on my left foot.
I raised my right forearm and violently deflected his incoming physical strike.
The loud smack of our forearms colliding sounded like a cracking whip.
Daniel gasped in pure shock as his aggressive momentum carried him dangerously forward.
I immediately grabbed his sweaty wrist with both of my hands and twisted my hips.
Using his own heavy body weight against him, I flipped him hard over my shoulder.
His broad back slammed aggressively onto the polished hardwood floor with a deafening thud.
All the remaining air left his lungs in a sharp, pathetic, wheezing gasp.
He looked up at me with wide, completely confused and totally terrified eyes.
"What did you just do to me?" he gasped desperately, struggling to breathe.
I absolutely did not answer his ridiculous question immediately.
I simply kept a crushing, relentless grip on his awkwardly trapped arm.
Hot rage quickly replaced his momentary confusion as his male ego took completely over.
He violently swung his free left fist blindly toward my exposed knee joint.
I easily anticipated the clumsy strike, applied upward pressure to his trapped elbow joint, and leaned back.
A sickening, loud pop echoed clearly through the tense silence of the bedroom.
Daniel unleashed a sudden, bloodcurdling scream of absolute, unadulterated physical agony.
His right arm now hung at a grotesque, highly unnatural, and deeply painful angle.
I calmly released my tight grip and slowly stepped away from his thrashing body.
"I warned you very clearly not to ever touch me," I whispered coldly into the room.
He writhed pathetically on the floor, clutching his broken limb and sobbing uncontrollably.
I slowly walked over to the bedside table, picked up my cell phone, and dialed the emergency number.
I calmly requested a medical ambulance for my abusive husband and a police unit for domestic violence.
Ten agonizing minutes later, the flashing red and blue lights brightly illuminated our dark driveway.
Two seasoned paramedics rushed inside the house and carefully placed Daniel onto a rolling medical stretcher.
Two uniformed, heavily armed police officers confidently walked into the messy kitchen to take my official statement.
I felt a truly immense, powerful sense of deep relief washing over my violently trembling body.
I honestly and naively believed the terrifying nightmare was finally and completely over.
Then one of the younger officers received a crackling, urgent message on his shoulder radio.
He slowly turned to me with a surprisingly cold, highly unforgiving, and stern expression.
"Claire Mercer, you are officially under arrest for the aggravated assault of your husband," he declared loudly.
He aggressively pulled a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from his leather utility belt and marched toward me.
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Daniel had somehow miraculously managed to spin the entire tragic story while crying in the back of the ambulance.
I was incredibly the one being forcefully taken away in the dark, lonely back of a cold police cruiser.
