But I know it helps me unpack what I went through in my marriage. I’m still coming to grips with it all and trying to heal.
Co-parenting with my abuser is another level of hell I’m hoping Dr. Stone can guide me through.
“Let’s start with how you’re doing.”
His full head of white hair is the same color as the paint on the walls. I never noticed it before now.
“I’m not so great today. I just dropped the boys off with him.”
He scribbles on his notebook, nodding. “And how did that make you feel?”
Like I wanted to bring a rifle next time and use it on his head instead.
“It made me feel … anxious. I’m worried about them being in his care. Dutton cried and didn’t want to go.”
I filter all of my answers; even though I know we have doctor-client confidentiality, I never know if he could be subpoenaed by a judge. After the accusations the CPS caseworker hinted about me just being a vindictive baby mama, I’m trying to play it safe and smother my female rage.
“After the drunk driving, I’m sure it did. Anyone would feel that way. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. After what he did, releasing your three-year-olds into his care must have been difficult.”
The threat of tears is just below the surface. I squeeze the pillow tighter.
“I’m scared. I’m scared for them.”
Dr. Stone nods, genuine concern pinching his brows. He reminds me of a sweet grandfather. I don’t trust myself to know who in this world is truly on my side, but if I had to, I’d bet on Dr. Stone.
“What’s your ex-husband’s name again, Miles?”
“Matt.” I smile.
He asks this every time. I’m pretty sure he pretends not to remember as a subtle way of belittling my ex.
“I think we need to work on unpacking more of what happened between you two in your marriage and subsequent divorce. You’ve never talked about the day you left him.”
I shudder. He waits patiently, never pushing me to talk until I’m ready to.
“I’d had a hidden bag packed and ready to go for months. It was almost like I didn’t even know why I was doing it, but my instincts told me just to do it, even though I felt silly about it.”
He wants silently, encouraging me to continue at my own pace. I close my eyes, willing myself to relive the horrifying day that finally pushed me to leave him.
24
DALLAS
FIVE MONTHS EARLIER
“You are never going to leave me. How would you even support them without my help? Who pays for this house? Your only work history is being a bartender.”
My knife slides through the skin of the red onion. Matt came home in a piss-poor mood, and I made the mistake of asking him why I found his wedding ring at the bottom of his gym bag.
He goes to the gym for hours almost every single night. He is in decent shape, but four hours is excessive for anyone to work out. A few days ago, I noticed he wasn’t wearing his ring anymore.
“So, are you saying that you are cheating on me? You’re admitting it?”
I try to appear relaxed, but I’m on edge. I hope to God he admits it. Then I can leave, and I don’t have to be the badguy. If he’s the cheater, it’ll be easier to explain why I wanted a divorce. No one accepts emotional abuse as a good enough reason, not really. They’ll act like it was selfish on my part to “break apart” my family just because he wasn’t “perfect” all the time.
Or they just won’t believe me at all. They’ll say I’m exaggerating and whisper about how I was probably nagging him all the time, driving him crazy. Somehow, it’s easier for everyone to blame the woman.
It’s easier to believe that I’m a liar than it is to accept that he’s actually that cruel to someone he claims to love, the woman who bore his children.
