Their relationship was cracked. A little like the vase he had thrown in a drunken rage.
It was also hanging together by a thread.
Kind of like the quilt her mother had given her when she moved out with her highschool sweetheart.
It was thrown to the side.
Sort of like the scrapbook she had made of their honeymoon.
It was tattered and worn.
Quite like how she felt.
But one day it was completely shattered.
Exactly like her bruised collar bone.
Now it was in peices.
Just like her heart as she watched his fist fly towards her.
Again.
