Maryland ducked as the plate smashed against the wall behind her. Her husband, Joseph, was fuming, his face bright red, veins bulging out of his forehead. 

“I’m sorry, Joseph. Please not now! Tommy is right there. Please, let's-let’s just have our dinner, okay?” Maryland pleaded. 

She cowered in the corner of the kitchen, her long blonde hair falling over her face like a curtain. She was dressed in a long sleeved, elegant pale-pink dressing gown down to her ankles, her dainty hands and arms covering her head as she braced for another hit. Joseph towered over her, his fists clenched. His dark hair was combed back neatly; in fact, he was still in his suit and tie, which perfectly hugged his burly physique. 

“Maryland, shut your mouth for once. Would you? Could you do that for me?” Joseph drew back his fist, striking the florally decorated wall right next to Maryland’s face. “You can’t even be a good wife and cook right for your family!” he shouted. 

Their kitchen was designed beautifully, decorated with warm wooden cabinets, laminated limestone countertops, and expensive looking dinnerware on display. Maryland cried out and shrank further back into the corner, her widened eyes darting around, looking for her son. Their eight year old son, Tommy, was standing next to the kitchen table. He resembled his father to a tee, down to the dark black hair, naturally broad shoulders, brown eyes, and aggressive cheekbones. He was wearing his favorite pair of red Polo pajamas, holding a woven basket full of shiny, silver utensils. His father had ordered him to set the table. 

“Please Joseph, please don’t make our son watch this! Everything’s fine, honey. Please!” Maryland’s begging only seemed to further enrage her husband, and this time, it wasn’t the wall he was beating. He clobbered his fists into Maryland’s petite body swiftly, almost robotically.  She cried out with every strike, blood and tears streaming down her face. Her tears began to wash away the layers of make-up she had caked on, revealing old, yellow bruises. 

She no longer looked like the beautiful, happy woman that could be seen holding her baby boy in the old photos hung up around the home. The years went by, Tommy got older, and Joseph got angrier. Happiness was no longer an option. 

With every hit, the walls seemed to shake. The ornate china rattled together in the polished wooden cupboards mounted on the kitchen walls, and the extravagant crystal chandelier hanging above them trembled as if it was going to fall right off the ceiling. 

She had wanted to leave. But how? She was only 27. She had no car, no money, nothing to her own name. It was all in Joseph’s. They had once been happy, even perfect. They had met in high school, and were both in the graduating class of 1989. They had even won Prom King and Queen their Senior Year. They were who everyone else wanted to be. He was a rich businessman, and she was a humble small-town girl. A perfect match. She didn’t catch on to his uncontrollable wrath until it was too late, and now, she had no choice but to try and keep their “dream family” reputation standing. Hide the truth. That was the only thing that kept her going, the only thing she had left as she took hit, after hit, after hit. This particular time, though, Joseph was especially relentless. Usually, he would stop after battering Maryland for a couple minutes, but not this time. He just kept going. Punching and punching. 

“I swear to God, Maryland! you're done this time! You're done!” He kicked Maryland in the stomach. “Aggghhh!” She yelled in anguish, the hits now targeted to the back of her head and shoulders. Maryland felt a warm, tingling sensation rush to her head, and her vision began to get blurry. Her thoughts seemed to shorten, and her cries began to quiet. He was going to finish her this time. He was going to kill her, right before what she thought was going to be a nice dinner. She had tried to make him his favorite dish, tenderloin steak, but he wasn’t satisfied. Jaw clenched, teeth bared, Joseph grabbed a large, golden candle stick off the dining table next to them, raising it above his head. Maryland prepared herself for what she knew would be the finishing hit, the ending blow. She shut her eyes, taking what she thought was her last breath, picturing the golden candle stick coming down onto her scalp, blood gushing down through her freshly done hair. 

“Mmph!” She opened her eyes to the sound of Joseph’s grunt. His arms dropped down to his sides, and the candle stick fell out of his hand onto the tile floor. His face was relaxed; he no longer looked angry, and his eyes were glossed over as if there was nobody behind them. Maryland stood in pure shock, stuck in the same position she was in while she was being beaten. Joseph dropped to his knees, his limp body falling forward, almost on top of Maryland. But she didn’t move. 

Her son,Tommy, standing right behind his father, was grasping the handle of a now bloody steak knife with both hands. Maryland’s eyes bulged out of her head in horror. 

“What, Mommy? I saved you.”