His words were cut off by the mallet connecting with his chin. His head spun, twisting his neck as he fell against the island, knocking a stool to the floor. He searched for her with dim eyes. A string of blood and white fragments spilled from his lower lip as he coughed. She saw the disrupted line of his jaw and knew she’d broken it.

Somehow, as she backed away, he got his feet under him and stood upright. He coughed once more, spraying blood and teeth across the floor, and reached down with his one good hand to seize the chisel.

Sara got to her hands and knees, tried to crawl away, but he stood on her ankle, ground his sole into her flesh and bone. He lifted the chisel by its shaft, its blade pointing down, ready to stab at her.

She saw the hate in his eyes, and she did not hesitate.

Sara swung the mallet with the very last of her strength, the force of it buckling his knee, and now he screamed as his leg gave way. He collapsed against the island, tried to cling on, but he slipped, his head striking the worktop as he fell.

Sara scrambled to the far side of the kitchen, to the door leading to the back hall, and pressed her back against the frame. She watched as he lay on his back, mumbling and gurgling, his arms moving as if they weighed more than his body could hold. He tried to lift his head, but his neck couldn’t support it.

She didn’t know how much time passed as she huddled against the door frame, but eventually she realised she had to move, had to get out. Keeping her gaze on Damien, she struggled to her feet, fighting against the pain that coursed through her body, her back and shoulders, her knees. She crossed to him and used one hand to support herself on the island as she bent down, every bone in her body seeming to protest at the effort. Damien’s eyes darted around for a moment before focusing on her. He tried to say something, but it drowned in his throat.

Sara reached into the pocket of his jacket, found two phones, his and hers. She took them, set them aside, then dug her fingers into the pocket of his jeans, retrieved the keys for the house and his car before gathering everything together and bringing them to the worktop by the sink. There, she took the time to wash her hands and her face, then wiped down her clothes with a wet cloth. Then she took the phones and the keys, found her shoes by the door, slipped them on, and let herself out of the house. She locked the front door behind her, ignoring Damien’s attempts to shout something.