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I saw his muddy boots as he stumbled into the room. He was
drunk—again. His beer bottle hit the floor spraying contents across
the rug. Glass shattered and slid under the bed, piercing my
cheeks.
Blood trickled everywhere. My heart raced faster.
“Stacy!” he shouted, while in a deep search for me.
A knife hit the floor daggering into the rug.
That was it. I was going to die.
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Beaten again by her husband, Stacy runs to a friend, Andy, who has provided refuge when she found herself in similar situations. This time husband Johnny chases her down and warns Stacy that she can run but she can’t hide.
Stacy and Andy flee and just when they think they are safe, Johnny makes good on his threat.
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