“What about money? Do you have your own or does he keep it?”

Sara wanted to explain the joint bank account her salary was paid into, the weekly allowance that was transferred to her own account each Friday. To help them budget, Damien had said. And if she ever needed anything more, she could always come to him and ask. He had never refused, had he? Not that she asked often. But it was all too complicated to get into. Not here, not now. And besides, what business was it of Amanda’s? It was a liberty to ask such questions.

“Damien does the finances,” she said, keeping the irritation from her voice. “He’s better at it, that’s all. I’m not good with money, you know that.”

“No, I don’t know any such thing. But I do know an abusive relationship when I see one.”

Those words hit Sara like cold water.

“He’s never hit me,” she said, the words tumbling out.

“He doesn’t have to,” Amanda said. “It’s coercive control. He doesn’t have to be violent to be abusive. Look, I deal with this all the time at work. I see so many women trapped like this, always in denial, always fooling themselves that it’ll get better if they stick with it just a few more months.”

Sara tried to pull her hands away, but Amanda held them tight.

“It never gets better,” Amanda said. “Never.”

Sara felt a cruel smile creep onto her lips knowing guilt would follow soon enough. “You can’t stand it, can you?”

Amanda gave her a warning glare. “Don’t. I know what you’re going to say, but don’t.”

“You can’t stand seeing me have what you can’t,” Sara said, both shamed and gratified at the hurt on her friend’s face.

Amanda took a breath and said, “You’re lashing out. It’s a defensive measure, part of the denial, and I won’t—”

“You’ve never been able to keep a relationship for more than a few weeks, have you? So now you’re trying to destroy mine.”

“We both know that’s not true,” Amanda said.

Sara freed her hands from Amanda’s and got to her feet. “Don’t contact me again,” she said.

She left the coffee shop, sparing only a glance through the window as she passed on her way to the bus stop. Amanda sat where she’d left her, her head bowed, a hand over her eyes, shoulders hitching. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her best friend since.

That night, Sara lay awake while Damien snored, her mind chasing itself down twisting paths of denial and fear. The feeling of sinking into a deeper and blacker hole, losing herself in it, Amanda’s words echoing there. Liar, she thought. Bloody liar. Jealous and bitter and clawing at my happiness, trying to steal it away.