She wasn’t concentrating. That was the problem. She didn’t have time to prepare. She was enjoying the wine, chocolate and zombies. Perry had only gotten back less than a week ago. He was always so loving and chipper after a trip, especially if he’d left the country. It somehow cleansed him. His face always seemed smoother, his eyes brighter. The layers of frustration would take weeks to build up again. The children had been in feral little moods tonight. “Mummy gets a rest tonight,” Perry told the boys earlier, and he’d done the whole bath, teeth, story routine on his own, while she sat on the couch, reading her book and drinking a Perry Surprise. It was a cocktail he’d invented years ago. It tasted of chocolate and cream and strawberries and cinnamon, and every woman he ever prepared it for went crazy over it. “I’ll give you my children in return for that recipe,” Madeline had once told Perry.

Perry filled his own glass. “Why aren’t we going?”

“I’m taking the boys to Disney On Ice. Madeline got free tickets, and a group of us are going.” Celeste broke off another piece of chocolate. She’d texted her apologies to Renata and hadn’t heard back. As the nanny did most of the school pickups and drop-offs, Celeste hadn’t run into her since the first day of school. She knew she was aligning herself with Madeline and Jane by saying no, but, well, she was aligned with Madeline and Jane. And this was a fifth-birthday party. This was not a matter of life or death.

“So I’m not welcome at this Disney thing?” said Perry. He sipped his wine. She felt it then. In her stomach. A tiny squeeze. But his tone was casual. Humorous. If she trod carefully, she might still save the night.

She put down the chocolate. “Sorry,” she said. “I thought you’d appreciate a bit of alone time. You can go to the gym.”

Perry stood above her with the wine bottle still in his hand. He smiled. “I’ve been away for three weeks. I’m away again next Friday. Why would I need alone time?”

He didn’t sound or look angry, but she could feel something in the atmosphere, like an electrical charge before a storm. The hairs on her arms stood up.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think.”

“You sick of me already?” He looked hurt. He was hurt. She’d been thoughtless. She should have known better. Perry was always looking for evidence that she didn’t really love him. It was like he expected it, and then he was angry when he believed himself proven right.

She went to stand up from the couch, but that would turn it into a confrontation. Sometimes, if she behaved normally, she could gently nudge them back on track. Instead, she looked up at him. “The boys don’t even know this little girl. And I hardly ever take them to see live shows. It just seemed like this was the better option.”

“Well, why don’t you take them to live shows?” said Perry. “We don’t need free tickets! Why didn’t you tell Madeline to give the tickets to someone who would really appreciate them?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t about money, really.”

She hadn’t thought of that. She was depriving some other mother of a free ticket. She should have thought of the fact that Perry would be back and he’d want to spend time with the boys, but he was away so often, she was used to making social arrangements that suited her.

“I’m sorry,” she said calmly. She was sorry, but it was fruitless, because he would never believe her. “I probably should have chosen the party.” She stood up. “I’m going to take my contacts out. My eyes are itchy.”

She went to walk past him. He grabbed her upper arm. His fingers dug into the flesh.

“Hey,” she said. “That hurts.”

It was part of the game that her initial reaction was always one of outrage and surprise, as if this had never happened before, as if he maybe didn’t know what he was doing.

He gripped harder.

“Don’t,” she said. “Perry. Just don’t.”

The pain ignited her anger. The anger was always there: a reservoir of flammable fuel. She heard her voice turn high and hysterical. A shrieking shrewish woman.

“Perry, this is not a big deal! Don’t turn everything into a big deal.”

Because now it was no longer about the party. Now it was about every other time. His hand tightened further. It looked like he was making a decision: exactly how much to hurt her.

It hurt, but not that much.

He shoved her, just hard enough so that she staggered back clumsily.

Then he took a step back and lifted his chin, breathing heavily through his nostrils, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. He waited to see what she’d do next.

There were so many options.

Sometimes she tried to respond like an adult. “That is unacceptable.”

Sometimes she yelled.

Sometimes she walked away.

Sometimes she fought back. She punched and kicked him the way she’d once punched and kicked her older brother. For a few moments he would let her, as if it were what he wanted, as if it were what he needed, before he grabbed her wrists. She wasn’t the only one who woke up the next day with bruises. She’d seen them on Perry’s body. She was as bad as he was. As sick as he was. “I don’t care who started it!” she always said to the children.

None of the options were effective.

“I will leave you if you ever do that again,” she said after the first time, and she was deadly serious, my God she was serious. She knew exactly how she was meant to behave in a situation like this. The boys were only eight months old. Perry cried. She cried. He promised. He swore on his children’s lives. He was heartbroken. He bought her the first piece of jewelry she would never wear.