Lauren considered divorcing Josh the next week.

The fight came out of the clear blue sky. They’d gotten home from La Jolla, started back in their regular routine. Mara, Lauren’s best friend from RISD, called to say that her boyfriend’s mutt had had puppies, and would they like one?

They sure as hell would.

Pebbles was wriggly, an Australian shepherd–Lab–dachshund–something else mutt, a girl who excelled at licking faces and chewing up shoes. Lauren was in love. That face! Those eyes! The silky ears! The warm little weight against her on the couch!

That very first day of pet ownership, when they were sitting in the living room talking in new, goofy voices, professing their love for Pebbles, Lauren spoke without thinking.

“I’m so glad we got her, Josh! That way when I die, you won’t be alone.”

The air changed. The puppy, who was gnawing on Lauren’s fingers, stopped and looked at Josh, head tilted.

Oh, shit.

His face was stone. Jaw clenched, cheekbones looking ready to cut through his skin, and then a redness seemed to pulse out of him toward her. “This fucking dog is not going to outlive you, Lauren!”

She jumped, because she had never heard him yell before, and for a second, she thought it was someone else. But nope, it was her husband.

“Jesus Christ! Don’t you ever say something so stupid again! What the fuck is wrong with you? How can you say that?”

“I—I—uh . . .”

“How do you not see it?” he yelled, and his voice was scary. “Don’t you ever, ever say something like that again!” He stood up, went to the door and punched the wall next to it, so hard his fist went right through the Sheetrock, and he did it again, and again.

“Honey! Stop! Stop!” Lauren said, running over to him. When she touched his back, he jerked open the door and flew down the stairs. She ran to the window and saw him disappear around the corner.

The puppy was whining. She gathered the little dog against her chest and took a few shaking breaths, heart roiling and churning in a sick, panicked way. There were bloody streaks on the wall. From his hand. From his fist.

She had never seen him like this before.

She closed the door to the hallway and locked it, then slid down to sit on the floor. Tears were streaming out of her eyes.