6th November 2020:
The gift came in early today.
It was markedly different from the ones I’d come to expect from him. This time around, it was wrapped in pink, a colour I could have sworn he knew I hated.
He said he was sorry. His excuse was that he had only hit me once. Back in my teens, I was a leader in the Stand Against Gender-Based Violence Group in my very first year in the university. And now here I was, a victim to the very situation I had hammered against with every fiber of my being.
Hands shaking, I unwrapped the pink-striped package, and neatly stacked inside was my atonement gift, a collection of cosmetics. Sardonically, I laughed. I knew exactly why he bought them. They were to help hide the scars he knew the world would question – the scars that marked the pearly white of my skin. Even in apologizing, he was still looking out for himself.
That night, he was extra romantic. Like he was on a mission to show me that he could still be the man I fell in love with and said “I do” to, seven years ago. The man who would never have raised his hands against me.
Loving him was my weakness. Before we went to bed at 10.50 pm, I had accepted his apology.
29th November 2020:
The gift has not come in yet.
I have been waiting, expecting it…hoping that it will show a sign of remorse, a hint of genuine regret. I have given so much of myself, and now, I have nothing left to give.
Last night, we both attended an award night for his company. Proudly, I walked alongside my husband, smiling and showing support in the best way I could. I got home bone-tired, and my cranky toddler did not help matters.
Immediately, I got changed and went to the kitchen to whip up something fast. The reward I got for that was the meal being picked at. Turned out my soup was too watery, and my wheat was too lumpy. It did not help that he referred to the meal I prepared the night before.
What the heck did he mean by my beans was too “beansy” anyway?! That triggered something in me because while I may not be a gourmet chef, I most certainly knew my way around the kitchen.
I made to suggest we order in, but before I could complete the statement, I felt the sting of a resounding slap that threw me off the dining seat to the floor and left me completely dazed. And then, he threw the still steaming bowl of “watery soup” at me. My loving husband then walked out as I screamed from the floor in pain.
My children are sleeping. It’s 11.25 pm, and I am still waiting.
7th December 2020:
I don’t want any gift today.
I woke up in the hospital. The events that occurred seem blurry and distorted. All I remember was screaming “Have mercy” as my children cried in the background. The slaps kept piling on as I wailed for help. And then, he pulled out his belt, and the pain consumed me. A surge of adrenaline and I was on my feet, frantically looking for an escape from the merciless leather strap.
I don’t know what happened next except there was a trip, and then I was tumbling down the stairs for a few painful moments. And the darkness swallowed me whole.
He is here beside me, weeping and holding my hands. But I don’t want to be held. Not by him. Words are mumbled in the background, but I hear three words so faintly … “internal bleeding” “surgery.” I am not scared of the darkness. I want it to take me and spare me from this pain.
It is time for my surgery now. I check the clock on the wall, and it reads 7.02 pm.
13th December 2020:
The gift came in late today.
Pamela, my five-year-old daughter received the gift in my stead. It was from my mother, my pendant with a picture of me when I held Pam for the very first time, the first time I was to ever be called a mother. On the box was the silver engraved lettering “Gone too soon but never forgotten.”
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Love,
Diane
