MEMOIR | THE NARRATIVE ARC
I Realized How Toxic Our Marriage Was When We Hid From the Police
Our days of pretending were over
I gripped the serrated knife tightly in my hand and applied pressure. The tomato gave way and fell in two. I sliced quickly as the red liquid filled the wooden chopping board.
A crashing sound brought my knife to a stop. I looked up. My ten-month-old daughter stared wide-eyed at me from her highchair, deciding whether to cry over her toy falling to the ground.
Discarding the salad preparation, I dropped the knife and walked around the kitchen island to retrieve her pink flamingo from the tiled floor. As I kneeled, I tickled her feet causing her to giggle and hold back her tears.
“Get her out,” my husband said as he ran into the kitchen, his voice coated in panic.
My body tensed.
“What?” I asked, creasing my forehead.
“Get her out of the highchair, now,” he demanded as he stepped around me and towards our dog, Sammy who was lying in the middle of the kitchen in wait for any food that may accidentally have fallen to the floor.
Nervously, I removed the tray from the highchair as I watched him over my shoulder.
