I crept from once scene of devastation to the next. The kitchen was a battleground of broken crockery and spilled food, footprints outlined in instant...coffee and the crunch of sugar, those same footprints, but with others, signs of scuffle and ... violence ... a small splash of blood at the backdoor, on the frame below the shattered glass panel. This door was open too, and the footprints headed with chaotic purpose towards the shed. The Punishment Shed, which was almost empty, de-commissioned. Showered, dressed, with her Pill taken and her lipstick on, she carried her case downstairs.“I’m not moving out,” she told Eric when she got to the kitchen. “Lift the case.” He did so. “Moving a bit more in, maybe. I have fewer clothes in more closets than anyone else I’ve ever met. I need them in different places.”“Well, I wouldn’t have said anything.”“No, but you would have thought it.”He smiled at that, and she sat down to some delicious French toast. It was probably the first time she had. More

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