"Mama!"

Michael clambered down from David's arms and ran towards me as I sprang to my feet, smoothing my dress as I did so. David glared at me as Erik slowly got up from the couch and followed me to the door.

Between the two of us, Erik was more composed than I was. But though we hadn't done anything wrong, I felt like I had. My face was flushed, and I could feel myself trembling.

From behind me, Erik held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Erik. You must be David," he said, as David brought Michael down and shook Erik's hand.

"Yes, David...David Dean," he said, glaring at Erik, then at me as I gathered a sleepy Michael in my arms. "I'm Sam's ex-husband. Who the hell are you?"

"Is everything alright?" I asked, finally finding my voice and hoping David couldn't tell that I was shaking. "I thought you were going to drop Michael off tomorrow morning at eight. It's midnight, David."

"I've been trying to call you for the last two hours, Sam," David said, annoyed. "There's been a change of plans, and I need to leave tonight. Are you purposely ignoring my calls?"

"Of course not," I said, looking around me for my phone before realizing that I'd left it along with my wallet at the studio. It was in the waistband carry-all that I wore whenever I ran. I remembered seeing it on the bathroom counter just before I left the studio for dinner for I had every intention of going back there to retrieve it.

Erik turned to look at me. "You must have left it at the stu-?"

"I left it at Olivia's house," I said quickly, hoping Erik would not mention anything having to the studio or the fact that I was painting again. "Bella was playing with it and I forgot take it from her. Remember how she was playing with that candy game, Erik?"

Erik nodded. I could see the look of disappointment on his face - and whether he was disappointed at me or at himself for acquiescing with my lie I didn't know. I was too scared at that moment to do or think of anything else. "That's right. Bella did have it last, before Olivia put her to bed."

"Who's Bella? And who the fuck is Olivia?" David asked, his brow furrowing as he kept glaring at Erik and I. "What the hell is going on? How come I've never heard about you before?"

"I babysit Olivia's daughter, Bella, during the weekends. Erik's her brother," I replied. "He dropped me off just now and he...he was just leaving."

Erik glanced at me, his eyes narrowing. Then as if recognizing my look of distress, he nodded and turned to look at David. "Sam watches my niece during the weekends."

"Sure she does," David scoffed. "I never realized Sam was into babysitting. She can hardly keep up with her own son as it is.

"She does quite well actually," Erik said, his voice hardening. "Anyway, like Sam said. I was just leaving. It was nice to meet you, David."

As a group of people walked past the house, talking loudly among themselves, I looked outside the window. David's car was parked outside and though it was dark, I could see a blonde woman leaning against the passenger door. She was looking down at her phone, the display illuminating her face. She wore a low cut top that accentuated her cleavage and tight jeans. She must have been in her late twenties, I thought.

Michael had gone back to sleep, his chin resting on my shoulder. As both men did some small talk, David asking Erik what he did for a living ("I'm a doctor.") and Erik doing the same ("I'm Sam's ex-husband," as if being my ex-husband was an occupation), I walked into Michael's room and tucked him into bed before returning to the living room. Erik had just stepped out the front door, but stopped to look at me.

"Thanks for driving me home, Erik," I said. "I'll pick up my cellphone tomorrow."

"That won't be necessary," he said. "I'll see if I can drop it off later. You're only a few blocks away."

"That would be -" I began but before I could finish, David slammed the door in Erik's face.

"What did you do that for?" I asked. "That was rude."

"So you are seeing somebody," David said accusingly, taking a step forward towards me as I took a step back. That familiar dance again, I thought. It was so ingrained in me, instilled by fear. "Why did you have to lie to me, Sam?"

"Because I'm not seeing him," I said. "Erik just dropped me off, and I offered him a glass of water. But why am I telling you this? What I do in my private life is none of your business, David."

"It becomes my business when it distracts you from caring for Michael. And don't bother wasting your time with that guy because he only wants one thing from you and when he gets it, he'll dump you. Shit, Sam, you're too old for this crap."

"And you're not? What about Miss Bottle-Blonde outside?" I asked, my face heating up. "Mind your own business, David, and I'll mind my own." I walked past him to open the door but stopped when I smelled it. He'd been drinking. "Did you just drive drunk with Michael in the car?"

David drew back a few steps, anger flaring on his face. "What do you think I am? Stupid? Of course I didn't drive. Jenna drove me."

"Who's Jenna?"

"She's my business partner. She and I have to be in Las Vegas by tomorrow morning to meet a client," he said. "That's why I was calling you for the last hour and a half so I could drop off Michael. We just missed our flight, and now we have to drive to Vegas or we could lose a big account."

"And is that my fault?" I asked, my own anger building, though I kept my voice low. I did not want to wake up Michael. "You and I specifically agreed that you'd drop Michael off tomorrow morning. We agreed, David."

David glared at me. Then he began to chuckle. "You're just pissed because I ruined a chance for you to get laid tonight, aren't you?"

"What? That's not true," I said, my cheeks burning.

"Sure, it's not," David scoffed, heading towards the door. He stopped, and turned to face me, as if he'd just thought of something. "You know, Sam, if you wanted to get laid, all you have to do is ask me. We'd actually even have some fun, come to think of it. Anyway, you were much more fun when you used to drink."

"That's because that's all you fed me, David. Booze to make me happy so I could, quote-unquote, paint and give you what you wanted. I never could say no to you when I'm passed out drunk, could I? But at least I'd be painting still, because you liked me that way. That way, you could spend your time chasing art accounts and fucking business partners like Jenna."

I had forgotten how fast David could move, especially when he was angry. The slap of his palm against my cheek came out of nowhere, and I staggered back, stars exploding in front of my eyes. Before I could fall back against the DVD case, David grabbed my arm to steady me, though he added a twist to his grip and I gasped in pain. I could not wake up Michael.

"Look how clumsy you are, Sam, hitting the door again," David chided. "Maybe next time you shouldn't talk back at me. Or maybe, you just miss all this? Is that it? Would you want some more?" I shook my head furiously. I'd forgotten how badly his hand could deliver pain. "If Jenna weren't standing outside, I'd be willing to give you exactly what you want that your Erik can't."

"Please don't," I whimpered. Another automatic response, a part of the dance by body knew so well as I watched him raise his other hand at shoulder length, getting ready to strike me again. I raised my free arm to protect myself, wondering what I did just now to deserve this.

"No, daddy," said a voice behind us. "No boo-boo mommy."

Michael's presence at the hallway leading to the bedrooms made David jump back, releasing his grip on my forearm as I staggered back. He turned to look at me, his face pale but the expression remaining the same. Anger. Spite. Loathing. "Don't ever argue with me again, Sam. Or I'll come back and remind you of what you're good for. On your back, with your legs wide open. So you best think twice before you open that big mouth of yours again."

Then as I felt Michael's arms circle my hips, David stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. My heart was pounding as I heard the sound of his car revving up and then driving away, screeching across the corner.

My knees gave out from under me then, and I found myself at the same level with my son, a 2-1/2 year old who may or may not have seen what had happened before he actually spoke up. He was too young to play referee between his parents, I thought. He was too young - period - to see anything like this.

Michael kept calling my name, forcing me back to the present, my gaze barely able to focus at him because of my tears. But I had to be strong, I told myself, as I pulled myself up, ignoring the trembling that took over me. I lifted him in my arms and locked the door, then turned off the porch light. The last thing I wanted was for Erik to come back with my cell phone. I did not want to see me like this.

My left cheek stung, and my right eye had already began to feel puffy, like someone had pumped air into it without me noticing. I needed to put ice to it immediately but Michael had wrapped his arms around my neck, saying bed mama bed. I sighed, and made my way to his room. I'd get the ice later.

As Michael fell back to sleep, I lay down on the floor, watching the lit up stars reflected from one of his stuffed toys on the ceiling. I wondered if Michael would remember this time of his life, if he'd recall seeing visions of his father hitting his mother, or hearing him say just how worthless I was. I wondered if he'd remember the sound of a fist or an open palm hitting skin.

But all those things I never wanted Michael never to see or hear. Only he had. And I was useless against his witnessing of it. I was too scared, too afraid of losing him to do anything else.

That night, as I curled up on the floor next to Michael's bed, my thoughts drifted to Erik, wondering what he was doing at that moment. Was he back in his own world, ensconced in the perfection that came with living on the Strand, where home prices averaged $20 million per half-acre of land? Was he really so naive to believe his own talk that he wasn't rich? That he wasn't as privileged as I knew him to be? He belonged to a world that was so far removed from the one I lived in, where reality was often harsher - where ex-husbands hit wives, and mothers were too afraid to do anything for fear of losing their children; where women like me found it easier to talk about how to get out of the mess they found themselves in than actually getting out of it.

My thoughts drifted to the painting on his wall. My painting on his wall. Strands. It was then that I actually got to smile as I closed my eyes and envisioned the painting hanging where it was now, where it really belonged. It was like discovering an old friend again, I thought, one that I had believed to have lost so long ago, and with it, all the hope that I used to cling to. An idealistic view of the world translated onto canvas. The world I wished for. The world I dreamed of belonging in. But it was only a dream. Just like it was only a painting - just paints thrown onto canvas.

Still, if anything, it reminded me that once upon a time, I wasn't broken.

•,¸,.·' '·.,¸,•

Erik came back an hour later, but I did not open the door.

Instead, I curled into a ball on the floor next to Michael's bed, covering my ears so I wouldn't hear the soft knocking on the door, the sound of his voice calling my name till it faded, along with the sound of his car driving away. Instead, I willed myself to go back to sleep, listing the things that I needed to do in the morning like they were the sheep one counted to go to sleep. Call the attorney. Inform him about David having driven drunk. Tell him about the sudden changes in the visitation schedule. The list went on and on, till I recalled the stars that exploded behind my eyelids when David hit me.

Then the thoughts of shame came after. I should have known better than to get him angry. I should have known better than to lie to him about Erik. I should have known better than to force Erik to lie for me about where my cell phone was, or what I did at his house.

But it too late for that. Lying to David told Erik more than I ever could have told him about what was really going on in my life. But another thought came marching through my mind just then. One that told me the truth of what was really happening with me - another should have to add to my growing list of mistakes.

I should have known better than to fall for someone I could never have.