Fear

His voice brings it all back. My mind flooded with years of trauma. The look in his eyes when his hands were around my neck, knowing he not only could but also wanted to end my life. All the moments when my body was not my own but his property, and words like ‘no’ and ‘I don’t like that’ would bring on fits of rage that made me wonder—is this the moment I die?

Years of feeling hated by a man who claimed to love me. Being punished with silence because I couldn’t hold back the tears. Taking the blame for his anger and his violent behavior. Listening to him casually talk about how easy it would be for him to take my life and how much he would enjoy it.

The sharp pain in my chest while fearing nobody would believe me. The dull ache for the ones who inevitably didn’t. Knowing, finally, that it didn’t matter. Knowing, finally, it wasn’t just me anymore. It wasn’t just me he talked about killing in the end. It wasn’t just me he was hurting. I never get to forget the violence against my 2-year-old child or the shame and guilt that remind me with every breath that it was my fault. I should have left all those times he convinced me to stay. I should have run before I did. My child got hurt by a monster, and it was my fault. I cannot convince myself I didn’t let it happen. If I had not let fear win…