“You’ve burned dinner for the last time!”
She knew what was coming. So she braced herself. Her hands cemented to the edge of the table.
“Why does he have to do this again, and in front of the kids?”
Ringing in her ear. Warm blood dripping from her mouth and nose. Her daughter’s screams echoed in her ear. She is on the floor, folded into a fetal position. His kicks succeeded.
To her ribs.
To her head.
To her stomach.
Uttering and emanating a resounding purge of insults.
“You’re trying to poison me?”
“You will not burn my food, my good food again!”
“Do you know how much this shit costs?”
She heard a large boom.
Her husband’s steel toe boot came down hard on her hand.
At that moment, she stood.
Eye swollen shut.
Split lip revealed her missing central and lateral incisor.
Ribs crunch with every movement.
She felt nothing.
He stared at this woman, his meat punching bag for years as she stood. Smashed hand nestled in the other. Walking out of the kitchen and their twelve-year-old son and seven year old daughter following behind her.
Inspired by the article “Rick Warren: Abuse is no excuse for women to seek divorce.” The New Agenda. January 2009.