The Question: Part Three
I’ve always been the type of woman who stands her ground — it’s one of the traits I inherited from my mother. When she said something, she meant it. As of lately, I’ve been feeling less like my mother and more like someone else. Someone I’m not familiar with.
Last night, I told myself I would leave in the morning. We got into a fight and you pushed me against a wall. I banged my head on a frame as you grabbed me by the neck, threatening to knock me out. Luckily, you hit the wall and not me — you probably just wanted to see me flinch.
I apologized, a lot. For what I said, for what I did; taking the blame for everything in order to calm you down.
Shortly after that, you walked into the room while I was packing. I heard you coming and threw towels over my bag on the floor — I was still sore from our last fight.

You hugged me and said you were sorry. That you need me. That we belong together. I hugged you back.
We went to bed and you held me all night, pointing out how perfectly we fit in each other’s arms. I fell asleep.
The next morning, I lay in bed, glancing at the towels on the floor that hid my new life. I couldn’t gather up the energy to get up and begin it. Leaving just seems so inconvenient once you wake up the next day. By sunrise, the words hurt a little less and your bruises have already begun to heal.
I roll over in bed to face you. With your eyes still closed, I hear you whisper, “You know you’re not leaving me, right?” One of those questions that only silence can answer.
fin.