Because most abusers aren’t assholes in wifebeaters who smack their bitch around because “she deserves it.” They’re guys wearing a T-shirt of your favorite band. They’re funny and charming, and genuine and respectful, right until the moment they’re not. But by the time those nastier colors bleed through, you’re already snared. Because by then, they know you. They know exactly where your buttons are—not just your buttons but your wounds, too. All those soft vulnerable places filled with self-doubt. They find those places, insert themselves deep, and have their way.

If there’s one truth I now know from being a woman caught in Layton’s kitten-crushing embrace, it’s that most abusers don’t leave a wide debris field that’s easy to spot, and therefore easy to avoid. They’re not nukes; they’re radiation zones. They’re not tornadoes; they’re balmy summer skies, where the morning sun makes you forget the thunderstorm that’s coming in the afternoon.

And Layton? He firmly believed that he was one of the good guys, because sometimes he was.

“Your mom making breakfast?” he asked as we sat there, but my mom had already left the house. “Never mind, I’ll make you something.”

Layton got busy in the kitchen. When my mom was around, he acted like a visitor, but when she wasn’t, he took over the house like he owned it. He was not a good cook. I used to find it sweet that he tried. Then he started making my portions ridiculously small. “Because I know you’re watching your weight.” And the cherry on top was how my mother would react to that. “At least he’s looking out for you,” she would say.

This time he came back with one and a half scrambled eggs, and instead of throwing him out of the house for trying to dictate my diet, I ate them, telling myself I wasn’t very hungry anyway.

At precisely 11:00, Layton got up to leave. “I promised my sister I’d take her to the fair. She’ll get all tweaked if I don’t.”

“Go,” I told him. “You put in two solid hours of girlfriend duty.” And I immediately regretted saying it, because that would do nothing but make him say—

“I’ll stay if you want.”

Which was not what I wanted. Ready or not, I had to face the Edwards. I couldn’t do that with Layton doting on me.

“Go take your sister to the fair,” I told him, wondering if he even had a sister in my original world. “It’s okay, I need more sleep anyway.”