By: Grace Cao

“Dinner’s ready!” Anna calls as she gently places the steaming hot plate of mashed potatoes and steak on the dining table. The steak is seared to perfection; slightly charred on the fatty bits and perfectly medium rare, just how her husband likes it. The creamy mashed potatoes are drizzled with a thick gray-brown gravy made from chicken stock. She sets down an expensive champagne glass and fills it with the infamously lavish Dom Perignon 2010. Mr. Augustine Sinclair, her millionaire husband, thunders down the stairs.

Anna hurries into the restroom as Mr. Augustine Sinclair sits in one of his exquisite carved sandalwood chairs. He cuts into the tender slab of meat and brings the piece up to his mouth. Anna can almost see the man’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he chews. He sighs, contently, and swallows.

“How is it, Auggie?” Anna asks nervously, fidgeting with her fingers. She had taken some time in the bathroom to try and appear presentable. There were still streaks of white flour in her golden-brown hair and a dash of gravy on her apron.

Augustine looks her up and down and grimaces. Then he shrugs. “It’s alright,” he mumbles, clearly irritated. He takes another bite. Chew, chew, chew, swallow. “It’s slightly dry,” he complains. Augustine wipes his mouth with a freshly ironed linen cloth and tosses it aside. He taps his glass.

“Right, sorry,” Anna hurries to the kitchen to retrieve the bottle of champagne. She pours him another glass, making sure to fill it slightly above halfway. Augustine grabs the stem of the glass and takes a sip. Then he waves, and Anna scurries away.

As she strolls down the long hallways of their 7-bedroom mansion, her mind wanders back to when Augustine first courted her.

Anna was in university, seeking a bachelor’s degree in astronomy. She was also a barista at the local coffee shop. Augustine was a regular. He visited Anna every day during her shift, claiming to be “absolutely obsessed” with the iced mocha latte. They both knew darn well that the only thing Augustine was absolutely obsessed with was Anna’s perfect, dainty face. Soon enough, he had asked Anna on a date at a pricey restaurant on the rich side of town. Being a broke university student, Anna could not resist.

After a series of dates, Augustine asked her to make them official. She was hesitant but agreed after he asked for the third time. Anna knew that Augustine had enough money to take care of her for a thousand lifetimes. She was also aware of the power and status he held in the shady world of business.

Their marriage was alright at first. Anna tended to her tasks as a housewife. Cooking, cleaning, and anything else that had to be done around their massive house. Augustine was the breadwinner. He worked long hours and often came home exhausted every night. Regardless, Augustine still made time to criticize every single one of Anna’s puny mistakes. Because of this, Anna learned to mold herself into Augustine’s submissive little doll.

Anna was walking over eggshells every second she was around him.

A week later, when Anna is preparing Augustine’s dinner, her mind suddenly drifts off. The moon is lemon-shaped…

She squeezes the lemon juice into the sizzling hot pan and bastes the shrimp in the juices. A fragrant aroma fills the air.

Anna is so preoccupied with her astrology facts and aromatic herbs that she fails to realize that the shrimp are quickly burning.

The milky way smells like raspberries, rum, an-

The pan starts to smoke, making Anna retch at the discusting odor. She curses under her breath. “Crap,” she mutters, distraught. Anna quickly turns off the stove and fans the pan with a paper plate. The shrimp is almost completely ruined.

Just then, she hears the garage door creak open. She panics. Her brain has stopped working. Think, think, think! As Anna frantically looks around the kitchen, her eyes land on a creamy mushroom sauce she had made the day before. She throws the burnt shrimp into a bowl and coats it with the umami condiment.

“I’m home,” Augustine announces as he closes the garage door with a sharp click. As he strolls into the kitchen, he cringes.

“What’s that smell?” he says.

“It’s…I’m trying something new,” Anna croaks, timidly.

“Whatever, this better be good,” Augustine declares as he sits down in his usual spot. He picks up a fork and digs into the scorched meat, unaware of what lies underneath the rich white relish. He takes a bite. Chew, chew… Augustine pauses for a moment before spitting it out.

In a fit of rage, he throws the bowl against the wall. “What is this?” he roars furiously. His eyes are wide, brows furrowed, as he spews all kinds of profanities.

Anna shrinks into a corner, covering her ears and closing her eyes. Augustine had been angry at her before, but never to this extent.

Her silence only enrages him further. He sees red.

Whoosh, smack.

There is a deadly stillness in the air. Anna reaches up to her cheek, where Augustine had stricken in his frenzy.

“I’m sorry,” he says, remorsefully, “I didn’t mean to do that.”

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. After a period of lull, she was able to utter something along the lines of “oh.” Slowly, Anna rises from the ground and drags herself back to her room.

Over the course of the next few months, Augustine’s temper gets worse. What once would have been a dismissive wave or a curt remark had now escalated to real, physical damage. It was as if something had suddenly flipped a switch in him. A switch that would lead to his downfall. Little did Augustine Sinclair know, Anna also had a switch. A switch that made sure he would never forget the taste of female rage.

Because Anna could see red too.

“911 what is your emergency?”

“I think I’ve killed him,” she whispers. “I think he’s dead, he’s not breathing, not moving.”

“Ma’am, I’m afraid I can not hear you. Could you please repeat that?”