My back hit the bathroom wall. I sank slowly into the corner, feeling the cold, hard tiles through my dark jeans. My ears buzzed as a mixture of wine and disbelief churned in the pit of my stomach. Hot tears stung my contacts and poured down my face. “Oh my God, no,” I kept repeating as if in a trance. He stared at me with wide eyes and a pale face, contrasting the bright purple bathroom walls. The color was “crocus,” to be exact. It was one of many color choices we had debated when buying our home a few years back, the house we now shared with our three children, tucked away in their bedrooms just feet from the drama that would soon blow their little lives to pieces.