Everything was going to be fine. Cindy's hands barely shook as she carefully sliced the tomato, adding one slice at a time to the carefully folded turkey and cheese before her. “Damnit woman, where's my lunch?” Cindy ignored the angry shout from the living room, humming lightly to herself as she opened the jar of pickles. Everything was going to be fine. Opening the jar was hard. It was tightly closed and the muscles in her upper arm hurt when she stressed them. The big hand-shaped bruises were deep, and only just starting to turn black and blue. But that was all right. A long sleeve shirt would hide them, as always. It was important that she get the jar open. Steven was [i]very[/i] particular, and this sandwich had to be perfect. “What the hell is taking you so long?” With a grunt of pain and exertion, the lid gave way. Cindy carefully speared a few slices, adding them to the sandwich. She had to fuss a little to get the slices in [i]just[/i] the right places. Her depth perception wasn't quite what it should be, what with one of her eyes swollen shut. But that was alright. A pair of sunglasses would hide that. As always. Everything was going to be fine. “Bitch, do [i]not[/i] make me get up and come in there! If you make me miss part of the game...” The mustard jar, on the other hand, opened easily. Still humming, she began to gently spread the condiment onto the bread. She was careful not to get any on the outside edges. Steven hated it when he got mustard on his hands. She didn't want to make him [i]upset[/i]. Not now. No, this time everything was going to be perfect. She'd been extra careful to get everything she needed. Today was going to be special. Everything was going to be fine. “Woman, get your ass in here with my lunch, [i]this instant[/i], or so help me….” The angry bellows barely fazed Cindy, as she slid the sandwich onto a plate. Steven never did more than yell. Well, almost never did more than yell. Rarely. Sometimes. Just when she [i]deserved[/i] it. [I]All the time![/i] But that was okay. Because today everything was perfect. She was sure of that. She was happy. Everything was going to be fine. “I'm coming dear!” She called out cheerfully. “About damned time! And don't forget the beer this time you dumb bitch!” It was [i]always[/i] fine. Because Steven only hit her when she deserved it. And he never, ever, [i]ever[/i] touched little Timmy. Timmy, the light of her life. For nine months, the heartbeat under her own. Her precious little boy. The doctors all said he'd make a full recovery after his 'fall.' It was just a broken arm. Four year olds heal fast. But they had wanted to keep him overnight. For observation. And that was fine. [i]Everything[/i] was going to be fine. Still humming, she held the plate in her shaky left hand, while her right picked up the last addition to her perfect meal. It wasn't something she usually kept in the kitchen. She'd had to dig through Steven's side of the closet to find it. He'd be mad when he saw the mess she'd made. But that was okay. Everything was going to be fine. Cindy walked into the living room, a smile on her lips. “There you are, you lazy bitch! I have half a mind to...” Looking away from the television, Steven gazed up at her. She was still smiling despite her black eye, standing there with his lunch in one hand… And his snub nosed .38 in the other. The scene was so surreal, so unnatural, that it took his muddled mind a few moments to process it. A strange expression then appeared on his face. Cindy had a hard time recognizing it. It had been a long time since her husband had shown fear. (Or concern. Or compassion. Or love. Or [i]anything but anger and rage and his hands reaching for her...![/i]) Why was he afraid? She was just bringing him his lunch. [i]Everything was going to be fine.[/i] Steven raised his hands in a placating gesture, a nervous, uncertain smile on his lips. “Look, I just want my sandwich...” Cindy smiled and nodded. “Of course dear.” Her finger pulled gently on the trigger. The hammer fell. Everything was going to be fine.