SERAPHINA SWIFT NOW

Iron is the traditional gift for six years of marriage. It is strong and resistant to fracturing. It is malleable yet durable, and it is indestructible.

None of these are words I would use to describe the current state of my marriage.

The nightmares started up again with the birth of my daughter, Sky. The intensity leaves me trembling and fragile, transporting me back to a blood-soaked alley in the dark recesses of my memory. Now I am feeling vulnerable, and vulnerable just isn't comfortable. My imagination is my cage.

Someone is stalking me. The truth gnaws at me like a nail buried deep in my bones.

Safe is an unattainable state. I'm sure other people don't feel this way. They are normal. I have accepted that I will never be a normal girl. I will always be haunted by the broken memory of trauma. I feel as if I've walked straight through hell and come out the other side into the blinding light of day.

I feel the weight of the gun in my hand.

"That's the Glock 42. It's a little big for you. You're tiny," he says, bringing me out of my daydream.

The guy behind the counter at the gun shop smiles as if I should be flattered. He could have used any other word — thin, slender, petite — anything other than tiny, which makes me more venomous. Those other words would have taken the edge off; instead he pours gas on an open flame.

"Try this gun instead. Ladies use it more as a summer carry. You can throw on a T-shirt and shorts and just run to the store. You're a virgin, right?"

I'm feeling on edge and jittery. My heart is pounding, and I'm having trouble breathing. It hurts to have a pulse. I want to die. I'm having another panic attack. I look away. I feel his eyes on me, and I see his mouth curl into a wicked smile.

His eyes wash over my body. I don't like the way this is going. Lately, I think I'm going insane; maybe Harper is right that I need to talk to someone.

"What?" I ask, letting myself be distracted by the coldness of the metal of the gun in my hand.

"Is this your first time in a gun shop?" he says.

I stare at the gun in my hand and realize I have forgotten to put on my wedding ring this morning. With so much on my mind, I rushed out of the house without it.

"No. It's not my first time. It's been over a month since you processed my permit application. I was in last week and this marks the end of my waiting period. I just need the gun and I'll go. Zack knows me. Is he here?"

"No. He's not here. I'm Jacob. I'm just filling in for him today. You really should try before you buy. We've got a range out back. Let me show you a few other options. What did you say your name is?" "I didn't. It's Seraphina Swift."

I've been up all night with the baby, which makes it harder to focus on anything. I was alone again. Another night with a bottle of rosé in the backyard, just staring up at the stars, a blanket of darkness surrounding me.

"Hold on, let me check the back. He probably left it for you," Jacob says, taking out a black velvet tray with more guns and running his fingers over the chamber. I pick up a combat shotgun. It's larger and heavier. I'm in awe of its weight and power.

I'm not the girl I used to be, but at least now I know I'm still desirable. All of my damage is hidden from the world. The marks made by Harper are invisible. They have cut me a million different ways.

Jacob returns with my gun. "Sorry about that. Is this it?" "That's the one." I say, as the world starts to move faster, grinding to pieces and spinning like a wheel.

"I don't think you're ready for this one, love. Not a lot in inches, but it's got a lot of power behind it, if you know what I mean." He winks and moves in closer, leaning over the glass counter, his eyes softening.

I can feel the color rise into my cheeks. I didn't come here looking for this kind of heat. I came here to buy a gun — one that I can use for protection.

A gift that's priceless, pure gold; one that I will wear on my body as if it is a necklace made of diamonds and pearls.

"Try this one. It's a Smith and Wesson. Just like Eleanor roosevelt carried. She carried a .22-caliber gun."

My body is trembling. The adrenaline kicks in, coursing through my veins. The flashbacks always make me lose control.

It's as if my whole life is put on pause. Lately, it keeps happening, over and over. Every muscle is on high alert, seized, and on autopilot. I can see his lips move, but I can't hear any sound. The silence stretches out in the space between us, as I lift the gun and aim it between Jacob's watery brown eyes.

And then I pull the trigger.

I hear the bullet explode from its chamber. Bang! Splatter. Scatter.

The blood is everywhere.

I picture myself tearfully recalling the events for a news crew later. Just like the drama that played out on TV that frigid morning in Boston the night I was raped. I cannot break free from the night terrors or the jagged memories that shatter my sanity. I can't remember anything from that night. Now I have a bad habit of daydreaming in public, often mid-conversation. I indulge my daydreams. I get lost in them. Soon, I realize there is no blood or bullet, just a very pissed-off Jacob, waving his hands to get my attention.

"Whoa, you always do a safety check, make sure there is no mag, no bullets. You can't just pick up a gun, point, and shoot. Are you crazy?"

"Sorry. Almost an accidental discharge. But I'm guessing you know how that is, right, Jacob?" I say through gritted teeth.

I'm still wrapped up in the powerful sensation of finally pulling the trigger. I am used to handling men with big egos, like Jacob, but never with a gun, much less one that may have been fully loaded.

I know Harper will be the first to agree that his wife has gone crazy — and not just a little crazy. I have gone full-blown, batshit crazy. The darkness of my past has finally pulled me under, and I've given in to the pressure of it. The violent memories are taking me further away from everyone and everything I love most.

Now, with a gun in my hand, I feel peace. I want revenge. I have found my safe place in the world. I have the strength I will need to fight back. I put the gun down. It feels heavy, even without the ammunition.

After all, Jacob is right: I am a virgin now, but not for much longer.

Jacob isn't going to stand in my way. He is a fool to think he has a chance with me anyway.

He reacts to my words as if they are made of steel, ripping at his flesh and exposing a bloody, open wound. I am angry in an obvious way. I gave up caring about what others might think a long time ago. The old Seraphina would run or shut down. The new Seraphina came to win. I focus only on the endgame. No distractions. This time, I make it clear with words that I don't need or want anything other than for Jacob to complete the transaction so I can be on my way.

"I'll pay for that in cash. I really need to go."

"Are you sure you're all right? Let me try to reach Zack," Jacob says, narrowing his eyes.

The fan hums from up above and the air around me is cool. All I can feel is heat, baking into my bones. Jacob is about to ruin my plans.

Tomorrow morning, I will disappear without a trace.

In the years since we married, Harper has become a prominent investigator with the district attorney's office. With so many highprofile cases, he made it easy for me to...