Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“There’s no space to even move in this death trap!” he shouted. “Fucking A, Mom. Get your fucking shit together!”
We rode home in silence.
My mind was swirling with a million scattering thoughts.
At one point, he reached his hand over toward mine.
I held his hand.
It felt wrong.
I felt sick.
The next morning, I woke to a bouquet of flowers beside my bed and a note that said he was sorry for losing his temper toward his mother. He sent her flowers, too. Later when he came home from work, I quietly asked him if he’d ever do that to me—lose control and batter into me the way he had with his mother. If he’d keep yelling even when I broke down.
The look of pain in his eyes showed me how much my questions shattered his heart.
“Never, Kierra. Never,” he swore as he broke down. “I’m not like that. You know me. I’d never hurt you or Ava. You know that. You have to know that.”
He cried.
I cried, too.
We never talked about the situation again, but it changed me. It made me much more aware of everything we’d done or gone through. I should’ve been wiser. I was a therapist, after all. I was trained in knowing the signs and seeing how they formed. I should’ve known that that wasn’t the last time I’d see Henry explode. I should’ve known the outbursts would become more and more frequent. I should’ve known that the longer I stayed, the more he’d let loose because he was learning just how much I’d allow. Just how much he could get away with.
Then he’d buy flowers.
Then he’d cry.
Then I’d cry.
I always cried longer than him, though. The cuts sliced deeper every time, and the flowers always died.
At least he never yells around Ava.
At least he apologizes.
At least he never hits me.
Those were the troubled thoughts my mind began to create as I tried to lift myself from the effect of his hurtful words. The one that meant the most to me was his relationship with Ava. In her mind, Henry was her hero. The man who would protect her from anything and everything bad that ever happened to her.
As for me, though, my husband became my monster. I was imprisoned in his realm, and I never knew what was going to set him off. I walked on eggshells, and I changed myself repeatedly based on who he wanted me to be in that moment. The problem with abuse and control from one’s partner is that often you can’t see all the warning signs until you look back on them. It started small. Him commenting on my outfit and telling me I should’ve dressed more like a mother and less like a twenty-year-old. Him offering me a gym membership to help me drop a few pounds—pounds I hadn’t noticed. Him mentioning how his work colleague’s wife always had dinner on the table when he arrived after work.
Then, there were the mind games. He’d tell me time and time again how I could just be…better. A better wife, a better friend, a better person. He told me he loved when I wore red lipstick, and other colors looked odd on me. So I wore red lipstick. Then, he’d tell me that he hated the red lipstick, and I’d remind him of what he stated before, to which he’d reply, “I never said that. You’re remembering it wrong.” If I were a client of mine, I’d tell me that I was being gaslit. But that’s the issue with advice: it’s easier to give it to others than to give it to yourself.
Besides, I could handle Henry’s mood swings because I had my Ava. During one of our arguments, when I’d expressed that he was hurting my feelings, he told me I should just leave and let him and Ava move on without me.
He knew that was the quickest way to make me shut up—threatening to take away the one thing that meant the most to me, my daughter. He even cut as deeply as to say that she wasn’t mine. But she was mine. Just as much as I was hers. Sure, we didn’t have the same nose or the same eyes, but our hearts beat in sync. Ava Melanie Hughes saved my life when I was drowning. I’d never known a little girl’s smile could heal the broken little girl within my own soul. I’d never known a love like that.
So I stayed.
I stayed when I wanted to leave him. I didn’t speak up when he hurt me. I didn’t fight back anymore because I couldn’t lose her. I couldn’t lose my heartbeat.
It wouldn’t be forever. One day, Ava would be eighteen. One day, she’d be free to choose who she wanted to be with. One day, I’d be free from the chains of Henry’s hurtful ways and still have my daughter.