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My hands trembled, but my voice came out level. I took the clippers from Ethan’s loose grip, walked into the bathroom, and studied the jagged, uneven strip Diane had carved through my hair in the mirror.
Then I turned the clippers back on.
I shaved away every remaining strand myself, watching each piece fall until there was nothing left of value for either of them to ruin, mock, or use as leverage again. When I stepped back into the bedroom completely bald, Ethan looked at me like a stranger had walked in wearing his wife’s face.
“What are you doing?”
I smiled — the first real, steady smile of the night.
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“You’re right. Tomorrow I’ll quit. I’ll stay home and take care of both of you.”
Diane clapped once, delighted, as though she’d trained a difficult animal.
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