The suitcases couldn’t fit enough of the clothing from the closet as the banging continued on the bedroom door.
In the last three years, the marriage had become a turbulent storm beyond saving. There were more nights when they went to sleep angry at each other. They no longer enjoyed being in the same room. The screaming was easy to handle and screaming back was even easier. The first time the phone was thrown across the room, we easily replaced it – but the shock was still there from the force of the blow. That was just the beginning.
The banging slowed down to a slow continuous knock and whispers of sweet apologies. This wasn’t anything new.
The first punch was easy to remember and bought back chills. Each fight the violence escalated and the bruises became harder to make excuses for.
“I ran into the door.”
“I had too much to drink and lost my balance.”
The consistent bubble of fear had become normal within the walls of this home. The shame of becoming a victim was unreal. This was the type of behavior you read about in the news and saw on tv, but never imagined happening in your own life.
The banging stopped and the footsteps down the hall become fainter.
Steven felt the lump in his throat ease away as the footsteps faded. He never mentioned the screaming, the bruises, and scratches that peppered his body from her constant barrage of hate. His parents had raised him to never lay his hands on any woman, but nobody prepared him for what would happen if she laid her hands on him. The silence he kept for the last few years had finally reached the breaking point and he needed to get out. Steven zipped up his suitcases, grabbed his phone, and opened the bedroom door to end his last battle.