Camilla's POV
The hardwood floor felt cold against my body as I remained sprawled where I had fallen. Above me, Tom towered like a stranger wearing my husband's face. His chest rose and fell from the exertion of striking me, yet his eyes held nothing. No shock at what he had done. No horror at crossing a line we could never uncross. Just emptiness that chilled me more than the floor beneath me.
Part of me searched desperately for some sign that this wasn't really him. When I had slapped him moments earlier, the regret had crashed over me instantly. My hand had stung, my heart had plummeted, and shame had flooded through me before he could even react. But looking up at him now, I saw none of that human response. No flicker of remorse. No recognition that he had just raised his hand to his wife.
