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would’ve picked up one of the tipped-over bottles and gone upside Jackie’s head, but I didn’t have that kind of willpower. Instead, I tucked my tail between my legs and headed upstairs to my bedroom.
    *   *   *
    With measured steps, I walked into my bedroom and closed the door. Against my better judgment, I went over to the vanity mirror to assess the damage. My hair was sticking up at an odd angle, and in some sections barely holding on by the roots. It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, but I’d have to get it cut so you couldn’t tell where Jackie had pulled it out. On the lower portion of my jaw, there were three red welts that were about the length of a man’s fingers. In an attempt to make myself feel better, I told myself that it could’ve been a closed fist, but that didn’t make me feel any better. I managed to keep my game face on in front of Jackie’s company, but when I got a good look at the horror staring back at me through the looking glass, I broke down.
    â€œThis is not how your mother raised you,” I said to the ugly duckling in the mirror. All my life, the importance of being an independent woman had been drilled into me like mental conditioning, but that all flew out the window when it came to Jackie. First there were the wayward friends whom he just couldn’t seem to keep his dick out of, and then there was the occasional ass-whipping that I took for the team. I knew he didn’t mean to hurt me, but Jackie had a bad temper. Whenever we would get into it, he’d feel bad and try to buy back my affection. I always said that the next time he hit me, I was going to leave, but I never did, at least not for more than a day or two, before I caved in and went back to him.
    I’d heard older people say most marriages went sour in the first few years because young people didn’t have the patience to work through their problems, but I’ll bet the ones who started that bullshit weren’t getting their assess kicked by the men who claimed to love them. Still, it gave me something to wrap my mind around in the hopes that Jackie would change, though I was starting to get the feeling he wouldn’t. Every rational fiber of my body told me to leave his ass and go for the jugular in the divorce, but I couldn’t do it. Jackie was my husband, and I’d vowed to stand by him for good or for bad, in sickness and in health. This is the mantra I repeated over and over so I wouldn’t feel like such a fool. The truth of the matter was that I was a silly girl in love, and Jackie was the cross I’d chosen to bear.
    *   *   *
    Tap-tap-tap.
    â€œGina?”
    Tap-tap-tap.
    â€œGina, open the door, baby.”
    I stood under the steaming water with my head pressed against one of the colorful swans carved into my porcelain shower tiles, listening to my husband requesting an audience with me. He had been out there for the last ten minutes, but I wasn’t ready to receive him.
    José had called me on my cell to find out if I was all right and to tell me that he’d cleared everyone out of the house. Thank God, because I couldn’t bear the embarrassment of looking in their faces again today.
    â€œGina, I know I fucked up, baby, and I’m sorry. Can we please talk about it?” he continued to plead.
    First he wanted to be Joe Frazier, and now he wanted to talk all nice? Nigga, please! I took my sweet time getting out of the shower and wrapping my hair in a towel. I had thought about trying to do something with it, but decided I didn’t even want to see the damage. I’d just rock a scarf until I could get Mercedes to bless me at the shop. I knew that my sudden hair loss would be the topic of conversation the moment I left the salon, but I didn’t really have a choice. I didn’t let just anybody play in my hair.
    Trying my best to ignore Jackie’s insufferable pleading, I