Never Again by Nikki Crutchley

I had burnt the dinner again. There was no time for a cover up as the acrid smell of burnt meat wove its way through the kitchen and into the lounge, desperate to tell tales on me.
He marched into the kitchen and looked from the scalded pan in the sink, to me. Old injuries started to throb, his gaze making them remember. Aching ribs and bruised eyes.
I reached for the phone on the wall.
With shaking hands I dialled 111 and asked for the police.
“No,” he growls.
“No,” I say. Stronger this time. It had only been seconds, but I willed the wail of sirens to surround me.

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