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“It had nothing to do with you.”
She stared into the darkness. “Yes,” she said, “it did. I chose him,
remember? I married him. I let it happen once and then again, and
after that, it was too late. I still cooked for him and cleaned the
house for him. I slept with him whenever he wanted, did
whatever he wanted. I made him think I loved it.”
“You did what you had to do to survive,” he said, his voice
steady.
She grew silent again. The crickets were chirping and locusts
hummed from the trees. “I never thought something like this
could happen, you know? My dad was a drunk, but he wasn’t
violent. I was just so… weak. I don’t know why I let it happen.”
His voice was soft. “Because at one time you loved him. Because
you believed him when he promised it wouldn’t happen again.
Because he gradually grew more violent and controlling over
time, slowly enough that you felt like he would change until you
finally realized he wouldn’t.”
With his words, she inhaled sharply and lowered her head, her
shoulders heaving up and down. The sound of her anguish made
his throat clench with anger at the life she’d lived and sadness
because she was still living it. He wanted to hold her, but knew
that right now, at this moment, he was doing all she wanted. She
was fragile, on edge. Vulnerable.
It took a few minutes before she was finally able to stop crying.
Her eyes were red and puffy. “I’m sorry I told you all that,” she
said, her voice still choked up. “I shouldn’t have.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“The only reason I did was because you already knew.”
“I know.”