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He’s beautiful, my husband. Sharp jaw encases masculine features, shoulders broad and a waist he keeps lean by going to the gym every morning before dressing in a tailored suit.
It’s hides so much, that suit. He’s the businessman with a family at home. I’m the envy of so many women, living a life of leisure in this big house. My husband’s success affords me the luxury of staying at home with our daughter.
But this house is a prison and although I love being home with Hannah, it wasn’t my choice. It was his. Every decision in my life that led me to this moment was made by him. I don’t get choices. Choices are for people with freedom.
I shuddered when he stood at my side, towering over me. His eyes softened, but it was only on the surface.
Wordless, he wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his hands on my swollen belly. She kicked like she couldn’t stand his touch either. Despite my nerves with him being that close, I let out a relieved breath. I had been waiting for her to kick. She did it again, reassuring me from the inside out.
“Oh, Beth.” He shook his head.
As a hot tear slipped past my defenses, he gripped my jaw and turned my head to stare down at me.
“Rob—”
He brushed his thumb over my swollen cheek, cutting my words from my tongue. I tried not to wince, but even a touch meant to bring comfort caused more pain than his punches. Whiskey breath coated over me.
The corner of his mouth turned down. He looked… disappointed? “You’re going to ruin that pretty face of yours.”
And with that, he dropped his hand, drank the last of what was in his glass and walked away. Leaving me with nothing but more tears, a heart finally shattered after years of cracks, and the resolve I needed.
I guess this will be my last time writing in here, attaching these photos to the pages. I could take it with me, but if I don’t get out and he finds me before I can, I fear he might kill me. I can’t risk him finding this too.
If the worst happens, and someone else is reading this, please get Hannah out. My sister’s address and phone number are at the back. Call her. She’ll know what to do. Don’t let them keep my girl. Don’t let them poison her.
Either way, I guess this is goodbye because I’m taking Hannah, and I’m getting out of here… Tonight.
∞∞∞
Three years.
It’s been almost three years since I left and tonight it feels like I’m trying to escape all over again.
The scared, shattered woman I used to be stares back at me from the pages I pour over while I battle to ignore the words he brandished me with… even in death.
Three years, and every inch of me is conflicted.
If he were still alive, peace would have remained a distant, unattainable dream. He would have hunted me down, his obsession knowing no bounds. I shudder at the thought. I don’t even know if I would be alive, and chances are, I wouldn’t have my girls.
Yet, a piece of my heart shrinks from the relief that floods me, relief borne from his death, from the knowledge that he can no longer reach out and hurt us.
Is it wrong? Is it reprehensible to feel an ounce of joy that the man who fathered my children is dead?
Perched on the edge of the porch, my gaze travels over the peaceful surface of the lake, the moonlight casting a mosaic of memories across the water.
I always knew how dark the blood ran in his veins, but I didn’t realize until the day he took Hannah that it had penetrated his soul. He knew he was leaving this world, but not without inflicting one last blow to me.
If he was going, he was taking Hannah with him.
He wasn’t successful. I know that. Everyone knows that.
When people hear my story, I get this look as if to say, “Aren’t you so lucky?”
He took my child.
Her father. The man that was supposed to protect her with every fiber of his being.
If that’s luck, I don’t want it.
