Excerpt 

The first blow split her lip, then his fist kissed her eye. By the third time her beloved slammed his shiny knuckles into her soft flesh, Erika Tyler Wilson had decided.

This was it. Tonight’s one-sided boxing match would be her last.

Elliott would hold her tight, as usual, and try to kiss away the pain of the bruises he had inflicted. He would cradle her in his embrace and wipe her tears, whispering in her ear how much he loved her. Tomorrow, though, the dozen yellow roses he always sent after a particularly brutal episode would be coming to an empty house.

As she lay there in a child-sized, crumpled heap, covering her face and head with her arms, she told herself this would be the last time she would cower on the floor of this house. No more worries about removing bloodstains from the snow white carpet. No more wondering if the neighbors were peering through their palladium windows to get their weekly entertainment—same time, same place, same guest star.

No more excuses. No more shame. No more pain. Erika felt free, even as Elliott continued lashing out at her.

“Why—do—you—make—me—do—this—to—you—?”

He punctuated each word with a blow as he called her a foul name—again.
She knew the routine. When he began spouting ugly words, it meant the end of his tirade was near. Erika locked herself into a corner of her mind, away from the pain. She felt her husband hitting her, but then again she didn’t.
In this space she was safe. She didn’t think about anything, really, except getting through the beating. By removing herself from the present, she could keep her sanity.

She often lifted her thoughts above what her body was enduring so that when Elliott was ready to make up, she could comply without hating herself. If she forced her mind to disengage from the abuse, she couldn’t remember everything that happened.

The process made it easier to look into her husband’s clear brown eyes and believe him when he said he was sorry. It made it easier to believe what she always told herself: he couldn’t help it. He really hadn’t meant to hurt her, but once again she had done something foolish to provoke him.

Erika always managed to upset Elliott, with her probing questions, with her inadequate efforts to be the dutiful wife of a law firm partner, or simply with her failure to have dinner on the table when he arrived home from a stressful day at work.

“Don’t I work hard enough so you can stay home? The least you can do is have a hot meal ready for me. Is that too much to ask?” Elliott would sneer as he sat in the cavernous dining room, loosening his tie and waiting to be served like a king.

His after-work routine never veered too much off course. He rarely entered the house the same way, always coming in quietly, as if to catch Erika in an illegal act. Sometimes he would casually enter through the garage door off the kitchen, sometimes through the front door, and other times through the entrance off the side patio. On occasion he would use the entrance to the walk-out basement and startle Erika by emerging in the foyer as she stood in front of the stove putting the finishing touches on their meal.

Elliott would stroll past her without speaking, pick up the dry martini she had waiting for him, and stand with his feet spread apart in front of the bay window that took up most of the rear wall of the kitchen. He would gaze at the golf course, though he couldn’t see much because it was usually late evening and too dark.

Instead of relaxing him, the routine seemed to fuel his frustration. It seemed to be his quiet time to dream up a grievance that would give him an excuse good enough to pick a fight. If it wasn’t about dinner, the problem would be an errand Erika had forgotten to run or the inappropriate tone she had used when she finally summoned the courage to welcome him home for the evening.

The reason never mattered. When his mood soured, when he felt like swinging, she would enter the ring whether she had asked for the match or not. It had been that way since they had eloped in Jamaica four years earlier. Even in that idyllic retreat, Elliott hadn’t been able to control himself.

“Why do you make me hurt you?”

It seemed he had been asking that question in a pained, remorseful whine for as long as she could remember, even before she had become his wife. Funny how she thought their vows would make things better. Not funny how much worse life had become.

Now he was finished. He had grown tired quickly tonight. The trial today must have been particularly grueling, Erika thought as she let her mind return to the present.

Elliott knelt beside her and picked her up. In his muscular arms, she felt as light as a paperweight. She struggled to recall a time when she had felt safe there too.

She kept her eyes closed as he carried her up to their bedroom. A single tear slid down the side of her cheek as she rested her head on Elliott’s chest.

“I love you, baby,” her tall, honey-complexioned husband said softly as he lay her on their king-size bed.

Any other night she would have concentrated on keeping her bloody lips off the sand-and-gold comforter, but tonight she didn’t care. She shook with silent sobs as Elliott peppered her with kisses. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Why do you make me act this way?” he asked as he closed his eyes and kissed her neck. “Why do you always make me hurt you? I love you.

“Stop crying, baby. I still love you,” Elliott whispered into Erika’s hair. “Let me show you how much.”

Erika stopped shaking as Elliott began to peel off her clothes. Her tears dried up as she lay there and stared at the ceiling. Tonight she was grateful he hadn’t bothered to look into her eyes.

If he had, he would have known she was leaving. He might have tried to kill her. Instead, he apologized and expressed his affection in the best way he knew how.

As usual, he didn’t notice Erika’s lackluster response to his fervent lovemaking. He mistook her stillness for enjoyment. And when he was done, he lay next to her and told her again that he loved her.
He pulled her close to him and gently kissed her swollen lips.
“Good night, baby. Happy anniversary.”

Chapter Two

Sweat slithered down Serena’s back as she reached into the trunk to fish out the last box of knickknacks.

“If it gets any hotter in Richmond this summer, I might as well move to Florida,” she muttered under her breath as she repositioned the weight of the load in her arms and turned toward the house. Before she took a step, Micah was at her side.

“Give me that.”

He gave Serena a light peck on the lips as he took the large brown box. She smiled gratefully and followed him up the incline and into the garage. She had parked on the street in front of their new house because the movers had taken over the driveway to unload their furniture.

“Remind me again why we bought a house on a hill?” she asked Micah as she trudged up the driveway. “Were we thinking this steep pavement could serve as our Stairmaster?”

She wiped sweat from her neck with the palm of her hand and rubbed the wetness on her grubby strawberry red shorts.

“Well, now, the Bible talks about the importance of a firm foundation,” Micah teased.

He smiled, his white teeth glistening in contrast to his smooth ebony skin. Even in normal conversation, the richness of his baritone made him sound as if he were doing the voice-over for a commercial.

Micah put the box on top of several others stacked next to the garage wall and leaned against them. He motioned for Serena to come to him. She smiled back as she complied.

“There you go with that silly look on your face,” she said. “Are you about to get all sentimental again?”

Micah pulled her toward him and rested his chin on her shoulder. He leaned into the nape of her neck and smelled her familiar scent.

“What if I am? Welcome home, love.”

Serena squeezed him tightly and kissed the tip of his nose. That gesture had been one of her unspoken gifts to him since they wed three years ago.
She pulled away and looked into Micah’s eyes. The look he gave her in return let her know he understood: she wished her mother were here to see her dream home, to take a tour, and to ooh and aah over everything.
Even before Serena became Mrs. McDaniels, Micah had been there for her, sticking close as she grieved after Mama’s death. He had let her dampen countless shirts.

Sometimes there were no words for the sorrow she felt. He would hold her hand in those moments, and she would rest her head on his chest. When she didn’t have the words to ask God for comfort, Micah spoke them for her.
The one thing that had given her peace was the fact that she and Mama had reconnected before her death. Mama had finally shared her reasons for not telling the truth about Serena’s biological father, something Serena had stayed angry about for too long.

She and Mama had forgiven each other, but Serena had still been crushed by her death. Four years later she still craved Mama’s voice when she needed advice, understanding without having to explain herself, or a safe place to leave her worries. Mama had been her haven from the world, even when she hadn’t accepted the love.

Then Serena had lost Erika. When Erika eloped with Elliott, a sea swelled between the two longtime friends despite the fact that they lived minutes apart.

After Mama’s funeral Elliott had refused to allow his new bride to spend much time with Serena. He monitored Erika’s every move and decided whose phone calls she could take.

The friendship died, for all intents and purposes, after Erika agreed to serve as Serena’s matron of honor, with Elliott’s blessing, but didn’t show up for the ceremony. To this day Erika hadn’t explained why she had come to the rehearsal the night before but was a no-show for the wedding.
Serena had lost a sister. But she knew that until Erika chose to remove herself from Elliott’s grip, their friendship couldn’t survive.

As Serena stood in front of Micah this morning, gazing into his eyes, her own welled up with tears at her memories. She longed for Erika almost as much as she longed for Mama. Her husband’s eyes softened, and she realized that even though he didn’t know what to do with her display of emotion, he cared.

Just as Micah had helped her, Serena had been there for him when he had finished seminary with questions about what God wanted him to do. Was he supposed to lead a church, work in youth ministry, or do something totally different?

He had taken a night job at the Brook Road headquarters of the Richmond Post Office as he prayed his way through what Serena began to call his holding pattern. As he circled around the same questions and continued to pray, she had reassured him that God would eventually answer.

“He’ll speak to you in his own time,” she had told Micah, repeating words he had once used to see her through valleys.

When he had been hired as the full-time pastor of a growing, well-respected church in South Richmond, not far from one of the city’s toughest neighborhoods, Serena had been thrilled.

Soon after, he took her to the restaurant on Brown’s Island where they had first met, and amid the noonday rush, he got down on his knee and proposed. They wed six months later, with Serena’s favorite cousin, Imani, standing nearby as the teary-eyed, six-months-pregnant matron of honor.
Now here Serena and Micah were, moving into their second home, a brick-front, Georgian-style house that was three times the size of their previous residence. Serena’s years as a successful advertising executive had been lucrative. Between her savings and Micah’s, they had been able to afford a house they had considered well out of their reach and, in some ways, their comfort zone.

Both of them loved the three-bedroom colonial they had purchased in Richmond’s Ginter Park neighborhood soon after marrying. It had been perfect for their needs then.

They used one spare bedroom as an office and the other as a guest room, mostly for Micah’s mother, who visited from Oklahoma every six months.
But the desire for more space for the growing family they were anticipating had led them to begin looking. Cobblestone Creek, one of Chesterfield County’s most highly regarded neighborhoods, was now their new home. Serena couldn’t believe she had left her cherished North Side to become a suburbanite.

Before she could chide Micah again for making her a traitor, tinkling laughter drew Serena’s attention to the sidewalk in front of their home. A woman trotted by, pushing a double stroller that bore a chubby-cheeked toddler and a sleeping infant, both of whom had the same shade of shocking red hair as hers.

The woman smiled and waved at Serena and Micah but didn’t interrupt. Serena and Micah returned the gestures.

“That will be us soon, love,” Micah said softly.

Serena’s eyes trailed the woman and her children as they turned the corner. She nodded.

After two miscarriages, Serena’s spirit was tender. She had lost one baby six weeks into the pregnancy and the other at eleven weeks, just as they were preparing to share the news with everyone.

Micah had come home three months ago, just weeks after she had miscarried the second time, and announced that he wanted to move.

“If we’re going to start a family, we need more space,” he had said.

She had fallen into his arms that night and cried for her lost babies but also because Micah’s wanting to move gave her hope that eventually they would cradle a child of their own.

When their colonial sold in ten days, she and Micah had both shed tears. Serena had never seen him cry over the lost babies; she knew he was finally releasing the pain.

Today was a milestone. Serena unlocked herself from Micah’s embrace and pulled him away from the boxes.

“Let’s go inside. Our new neighbors are probably staring, like the woman who just waved.”

“Let ’em look,” Micah said with a mock attitude as he followed her from the garage into the oblong, sunlit kitchen. “We’re married folks.”

The two stood side by side in the middle of the room, taking in the first floor of their new home. A team of professional movers bustled nearby, placing furniture in the positions Serena had marked with masking tape.

Neither she nor Micah spoke. She suspected he was giving thanks again, just as she was.

When Serena was a top-notch advertising executive, she and Micah could have easily afforded this home. But when they decided to start their family, Serena had taken a significant pay cut to switch to a less stressful job.
For the most part, her work as executive director of the nonprofit Children’s Art Coalition allowed her to work eight hours a day, five days a week. There were monthly board meetings and occasional after-hours functions, but the schedule was much less demanding.

With Micah’s salary as a pastor and Serena’s more modest income, Cobblestone Creek still had been in their price range. The house they now stood in, though, was in the priciest section of the subdivision.

Serena and Micah had been looking for something smaller when their realtor, Ruby Nelson, called and declared that she had found the perfect property.
“Rev. McDaniels, the owners are moving to Australia in three weeks. An executive recruiting firm has secured the husband a fabulous job. His new company offered to sell the house for him, but he’s eager to have everything resolved before he leaves, so he and his wife are selling it for a steal,” Ruby had said before catching herself. “Sorry, Reverend, I didn’t really mean steal.”

Micah laughed.

“Please, Ruby. Preachers like bargains too.”

The five-bedroom, five-thousand-square-foot house was on the market for about sixty thousand dollars less than its value.

“What’s wrong with it?” Micah asked. “Better yet, what’s wrong with the owners?”

A thorough check by a certified house inspector turned up few flaws.
On the day Micah and Serena closed, their real estate attorney gave them a letter from the previous owners, to be opened once they had signed the documents to make the house legally theirs.

“My wife and I were young once, just starting out with hope, love, and faith,” the executive wrote. “Twenty years of marriage and four children later, our needs have been met many times over. We don’t know you personally, but we wish you the best. Enjoy the house as much as we did.”
So here they stood, on a Monday morning, marveling and thanking God.

“I don’t know what he’s getting ready to do with us here, but I’m in the game,” Serena said as she put her arms around Micah’s waist.

He rubbed her neck.

“Let’s play, love.”