I hated the sounds my husband made, the smell that wasn’t Romero’s, the way his clumsy fingers tugged at my dress. He was my husband. His hand traveled up to my knee.

My husband.

Then up to my thigh.

My husband. My husband. My husband.

His hand reached the edge of my panties and I couldn’t take it anymore. I lay my palms against his chest and pushed him off me. I wasn’t sure where I took the strength from. Benito had at least seventy pounds on me, but he lost his balance and fell to his side. I leaped off the bed but my dress was slowing me down. I staggered toward the door, arms extended. My fingers were mere inches from the doorknob when Benito caught up with me. His fingers bruised my forearm with their grip, and he flung me back toward the center of the room. I couldn’t gain my footage quick enough and fell forward, hipbones colliding with the desk in the corner. I screamed out from pain. Tears burned in my eyes.

Benito pressed up behind me as I was bent forward and his erection dug into my butt. “Tonight, doll, you are mine.”

And there it was, right in front of me. I barely noticed Benito’s hands squeezing my breasts through the fabric. My eyes were fixed on the gleaming silver letter opener. Benito squeezed again, harder, probably angry because of my lack of reaction. I gripped the letter opener. It felt good in my hand, cold and hard. My husband tore at the edge of my corset. I tightened my grip on the opener and jabbed my arm backward as hard as I could. Benito stumbled away with a gurgling gasp, giving me free. I whirled around. The letter opener stuck out of his right side. Blood soaked the white fabric of his shirt. I must have hit him really hard, maybe even injured him seriously. I’d never done something like that.

My lips parted in shock. I’d really plunged a knife into my husband’s stomach. His wide eyes stared. “You bitch, I--” He gasped and dropped to his knees. His ugly beetle eyes grew even wider as he rasped in pain.

I stumbled away from him. What if he called for help? What if someone saw what I’d done? I’d stabbed my own husband. They would kill me for that, and even if they didn’t, Benito surely would beat me to death if he survived the wound.

There was only one thing I could do, only one person who could help me and I wasn’t even sure if he still would after everything I’d put him through. After what I’d said and what he had to witness today. Maybe he wasn’t even in Chicago anymore. Maybe he’d already taken the next flight back to New York to get as far away from me as possible.

I rushed toward my bag, ripped it open and fumbled for my phone. With shaking fingers I keyed in the number I knew by heart. Benito seemed still dazed but he had gotten up on his elbows. He was gasping for breath, obviously trying to find his voice to scream for help. What if he came toward me? Could I finish what I’d started?

A new wave of panic hit me hard.

After the first ring, Romero’s familiar voice rang out. “Lily?”

I’d never felt more relieved in my life. He hadn’t ignored my call. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t hate me.

“Please help me,” I whispered, voice hoarse with tears. They were streaming down my face. It wasn’t because I’d just stabbed someone with a letter opener, I felt no regret over that.

“I’m coming. Where are you?”

“Bedroom.”

“Don’t hang up,” he ordered. I wouldn’t have. I could hear him moving, could hear his calm breathing, and it calmed me in turn. Romero would be here soon and then everything would be all right.

After everything that had happened, he still rushed to help me.

Less than two minutes later, there was a knock. He must have been close or it would have taken him much longer to reach the bedroom. For a couple of seconds, I wasn’t sure if I could even move. My legs felt numb.

“Lily, you have to open the door. It’s locked. If I break it down, people will be up here in no time.”

That was all it took.  I crossed the room in a few steps and opened the door. My heart was beating in my throat, and only when I saw Romero’s worried face did I dare to lower the phone from my ear and hang up. I felt safe now, even though I knew I was far from it. We both were in grave danger if anyone found us like that. By calling Romero, I’d put him in harm’s way. How could I do that to someone I loved? Hadn’t I gone through with this marriage exactly to protect Romero?

Romero eyes wandered over my half-open corset, my disheveled hair and ripped skirt, and his face flashed with fury. He stepped into the room, closed the door and cupped my face. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head, which I realized a moment later, could be taken as an answer to either question. “I stabbed him. I couldn’t bear his touch. I didn’t want his hands on me. I…” Romero pulled me against him, my cheek pressed against his strong chest. I listened to the sound of his pounding heart. Outside he looked calm but his heart betrayed him. “I didn’t sleep with him. I couldn’t.”

“He’s still alive,” he murmured after a moment before he pulled back. Deprived of his warmth, I wrapped my arms around myself. Romero advanced on my husband whose eyes were darting between Romero and me like he was watching a tennis match. His breathing rattled in his chest, but he’d dragged himself closer to the desk and was reaching for his phone. Romero stood over him, then calmly pushed his arm back down to the ground.

Benito fell onto his side with a pained gasp. He reminded me of a beetle who was trapped on his back, its legs helplessly pedaling above its body. I didn’t feel any pity though.