The Slap

The crack of Claire's palm against Willow's cheek echoes in the bedroom, Willow's head snapping sideways as the latex dress creaks. 'The taxi will pick you up in ten minutes,' Claire says, her voice cold and final, holding the key to the cage between two fingers. 'I never want to see you again, Warren. Get out now.' Willow stands frozen, the sting blooming on her cheek, the belt still buckled beneath the dress, and the phone buzzing with David's 'Counting' message as the door is already open.