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And I made the mistake of asking him how his day was.
Who would have thought that pleasantries, genuine curiosity about his day would be the thing that set him off, not the numerous times I screwed up, forgot things he told me half a dozen times.
Nope.
Asking him how his day went made him swing back, backhanding me across the face hard enough to send me whirling against the kitchen counter, the edge catching me in the rib, knocking my air out as the sting spread across my cheek.
“Teddy…” my voice whined out of me, surprised, hurt, but still somehow needing his approval.
“You can’t give me five fucking minutes when I get home to relax before you leash the fuck into me?” he growled, hand sinking into the back of my hair, curling in, yanking, pulling me up onto my tiptoes to scream in my face.
I didn’t even remember what he said as the pain in my scalp was taking all my attention.
I did remember crying, begging, apologizing, saying I would be better, do better, be what he needed me to be.
But all my voice did was tick him off further until I was laying on the floor, spitting blood out of my mouth, one eye swollen shut, a long gash down my cheek.
I’d never been struck before.
The actual pain was nothing compared to the shock, the incomprehension, the way my heart and head were racing.
Teddy had stormed out after, not coming home until hours later, reaching down, pulling me back onto my feet, washing my face, putting me into bed, promising it would never happen again, that he was just stressed from work, that he’d had too much to drink, that I was doing my best.
And I was.
Doing my best.
But I couldn’t bring myself to forgive him when he begged for it.
Luckily, he was too trashed to remember in the morning if I had or not. He did remember he had beat me though because there was a bag of cosmetics on the counter. There’d been no note. But I understood perfectly. I was supposed to cover up, act like nothing happened.
But it did happen.
And even under the makeup, I could feel the constant throb of what he had done to me for days, fueling my clandestine trip to an attorney who gave me sad eyes while telling me that I was, essentially, stuck if I wanted the money that I would need for my father’s long-term care.
And the guilt had made me stay. What life was there for him if I divorced Teddy? Being thrown in a nursing home that couldn’t give him one-on-one attention, letting him live out a life in a bed because rehabilitation wouldn’t be of the utmost importance, leaving him trapped in a body that would never work for him?
No.
And the other option was to take him home with me, work my fingers to the bone just to be able to afford the most basic of care given by someone who wasn’t trained – or paid – enough to genuinely be able to try to get him moving on his own again. Even just in small ways.
I didn’t want to live with that idea either.
And, I figured, since it was already my fault that he was in that accident, in that bed, I felt it was only fair that he get the best care. And I would simply endure.
So that was what I did.
I got good at enduring.
Until one night.
When Teddy flipped.
And someone came upon us.
And gave Teddy what he deserved.
Only to get pulled in on assault charges.
It was the first time in my life that I stood up for myself, the first time in my marriage that I put my foot down.
Because they came to me – Teddy and my father-in-law, demanding I spin the story so that Teddy’s spousal abuse never hit the papers (or court records).
They wanted me to lie on the stand.
And send an innocent guardian angel to jail for nearly a decade.
I had enough guilt to bear on my too-weak shoulders. I knew I couldn’t take that as well.
I said no when they walked into my room with the plan, fully expecting my acquiescence. I refused to talk to the police. I shut my mouth, shook my head, and tried to convince myself that there was nothing they could do to me.
I had thought I’d seen the worst of Teddy.
Until we were both released from the hospital, sent home where no one was around to watch on, make sure we were both happy and healing.
The staff was given leave.
There was no one there to see it.
No one there to report it.
When Teddy whipped me so hard I had to sleep on my stomach for weeks. When he busted my eye socket. When he fractured the bones in my jaw.
I don’t remember which beating made me scream out that Yes, I would do it; I would lie. I would take on more of that guilt if only the pain would stop.
