On the surface, Meg* had an enviable life: a high-profile career at a prestigious educational institution, two beautiful kids, a house in a swanky New England suburb and a powerbroker husband who seemed like “the handsomest, nicest guy in the room.” But inside her marriage, hidden to everyone else in her life, was horror.
Meg’s husband was abusive. He’d scream at her, break things, push, slap, shake or choke her. For years, she’d covered up with turtlenecks to hide bruises, long sleeves over grip marks, hair arranged to cover goose eggs on her forehead. “My whole self was thrown into making things work, forgiving and forgetting for the sake of the status quo,” Meg says.
But there came a point when Meg could cover up no longer. One August evening,…