Finally, he finishes and shoves me away from him. I go to the bathroom and spit into the sink before brushing my teeth and gargling with mouthwash.
I step into the shower. I already took one earlier today, but I need to get clean. I twist the knob and sit on the cool tiled floor, curling up into a ball under the spray until the water turns to ice.
Finally, I somehow return to my body and towel off before putting on a big T-shirt that once belonged to my dad. It swallows me, which oddly gives me a sense of safety. I pull on a pair of boy shorts underwear and thick sweatpants.
When I step into the bedroom, still towel-drying my hair, I see that Matt has already fallen asleep. A heavy exhale of relief escapes my lungs.
I tiptoe out into the hallway, making my way to the boys’ room down the hall of the cookie-cutter builder-grade home we purchased recently.
When I peek into their room, I see one sweet, perfect face sound asleep. Behind Dawson, Dutton’s soft, curly dirty blond head is turned toward the wall. The gentle rise and fall of their bellies tell me they’re both sleeping soundly.
I close the door and tiptoe toward the living room. I grab a clean cup from the cabinet and fill it with water from the fridge. After downing half of it, I press the cold glass to my forehead and sigh.
“You kept them safe tonight, but what about tomorrow?” I mumble.
The weight of my bleak situation settles on my shoulders. I would do anything for my children. I would sacrifice my life, my soul, my dignity, and my health—both physical and emotional.
And here I am, wondering if all of it will even be enough if their father kills me anyway and they’re left to the mercy of his cruelty and his sick, twisted mind.
I’m nearly crumpling under the thought when my phone lights up on the kitchen counter, where I must have left it after cleaning up from dinner.
I pick it up, seeing my friend Rosie’s name on the screen. I swipe to read her message.
Rosie
Sorry, I know it’s late. My mom brain still hasn’t adjusted back to a normal sleep schedule. We should have a playdate at the ranch soon so the twins can all play together!
I smile, quickly typing out a reply.
Dallas
Hey! That would be amazing. We’d love to. I don’t have a normal sleeping schedule yet either, haha.
I don’t mention it’s because I’m living in constant fear of my husband.
Rosie responds with a heart and another text.
Rosie
Friday morning works for us. I’ll make little sandwiches. Bring their swimsuits if the weather is nice!
I blow out a breath, wondering if I can trust Rosie with the truth about what’s happening in my marriage. My instinct is not to tell anyone because no one will get it. No one can possibly understand what I’m going through.
How can I explain it to someone if I don’t even understand it myself?
There’s no reason for me to be packing this bag. I don’t even know why I’m doing it, but somehow, I can’t stop. I feel compelled to add in more snacks for the boys and Band-Aids, just in case.
I shove the forty dollars of cash into the side pocket, where I’ve already collected three hundred dollars by asking for a little bit of cash back every time I’ve gone to the grocery store for the past few months.
I promised myself that once I got to five hundred, I would do something about it. Maybe I’ll use it on a therapist. Maybe I’ll put it in a bank account for the boys’ future.
Maybe I’ll finally find the courage to leave Matt.
Yeah, right.
My feet have been cemented in this marriage since day one. How can I leave my kids’ father for being mean sometimes? Am I really that weak of a person that I can’t take being called a bitch every once in a while?
I’m not weak. I refuse to become a victim.
