The attention from their guests, their wedding-day admiration, had not filled her up. Her father’s pride, wrested from him, had been bitter; her in-laws’ approval soured. She had plumbed the depths of this shallow life they had constructed and found there was nothing left to do but leave it. She had felt guilty. She was killing them, she knew, as she drew the bat down. But he would survive. People like him always did.
