She walked in without greeting anyone, took in the wrecked living room, and found me sitting on the couch, looking crushed.

My shoulders were hunched. My hands trembled. My voice shook when I spoke.

All of it was an act.

For years I’d watched women arrive at my self-defense classes after living through exactly this. I knew their quiet steps, their lowered eyes, the nervous flutter of their hands.

I imitated every one of those gestures, and she bought it completely.

Marvin sat at the kitchen counter in a high turtleneck to hide the bruises from his fall, looking like he might faint.