One year to the day after my miscarriage, my first book went up for sale. I sat quietly at home not knowing what to expect. I hadn’t even told Jeff. It was sort of strange to see my book just sitting there on the screen waiting to be sent to other people if they wanted it. Emma had texted me first, telling me she already bought her copy. I’d circulated advertisements on various sites and done some foot work to get it into local stores. So I just sat there, waiting. And wondering.

I took a leave from work after I came home from the hospital and hadn’t been back since. Fortunately, Jeff was promoted at work and I was able to stay home. But more than that, it was where he wanted me. During that time, his presence left a sinking feeling in my stomach. But who knew, maybe I would never have to go back to a nine to five. Maybe I could just write. A girl could dream.

I was standing in the kitchen, cutting an apple, when I heard a car in the driveway. Odd, considering I wasn’t expecting anyone. I heard the key turn and the familiar sinking feeling returned to me. Jeff was coming home randomly in the middle of the day and this couldn’t be good. He sauntered in as he always did, tossing his keys in the little dish we kept by the door and making his way into the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re home early. Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Everything is fine,” he said, coming around the edge of the counter and moving toward me in such a way that I backed myself up as far against the counter behind me as I could. He grabbed my jaw tightly and smashed his mouth against mine. His hand was traveling down my side.

“Jeff, please, no. I don’t feel well. I just want to eat,” I pleaded.

“I’m your husband and I want you now,” he said, biting into my bottom lip.

I shut my eyes, pushing his hand away as best as I could. I could feel it inside me. This swelling I had scarcely allowed before. With both hands on his chest and all the strength I could muster, I shoved him back away from me. “No! Just leave me alone!” I screamed.

Perhaps I went momentarily insane in believing that would work. He looked at me like I had grown a second head. He rushed back at me, grabbing a handful of my hair at the nape of my neck and snapping it back so that I was looking up. Tears began to stream down the sides of my face and I choked back a whimper.

“You listen to me now. You are mine and I will do with you as I please. Do you understand? Say you understand!” he growled.

“I understand,” I yelped.

“Good,” he said. He grabbed my arm. So tightly it hurt to even try to move it. He was pulling at me, pulling me upstairs. I wept the entire way up.

When it was over, he rolled to his side and fell asleep as if this was perfectly normal. And it had been, at least for us, for the past year. I got up and went to the bathroom. I stood in front of the mirror, examining myself. I was losing weight, steadily. This time had been the worst. He’d been so rough, pushing and pulling at me. Bruises were already starting to show all over my thighs, upper arms, and around my wrists. My face was red and puffy. I didn’t recognize myself. I flipped the light off. I didn’t want to look at myself anymore. The smallest amount of light crept in from the window, softening everything enough that it wasn’t so unbearable. I left the light off as I stepped into the shower and cleaned myself off. I turned the water as hot as I could stand it and let it pour over me. That was my first shower with the lights off. It felt better in the dark. It allowed me to look down at myself without crying. The darkness hid me away, hid everything I couldn’t manage to accept or embrace. I never felt more detached from the person I knew myself to be. I was just surviving. By hot water and darkness.

I still wasn’t pregnant and that displeased Jeff. It seemed to make him more and more angry as time went on. Some days I thought getting pregnant would make this all go away but there was no way I could bring a child into this.

So I went on and on like this. For the next three years. After another year, he didn’t try as much. And another year after that, he didn’t try at all. He’d given up on the family idea. I kept writing. That’s where I kept my focus.

After a little while, I really started to blow up. Jeff started going away for conferences and training and had a lot of late night meetings. We carried on this way for a while. Roommates who led separate lives, crossing paths in common areas, and that was about it. I’m not sure why we didn’t just end it. Some small part of me hoped to see the Jeff I had married, the Jeff I had fallen in love with so long ago. But the rest of me knew he was gone forever. Every day I mourned the baby girl we lost. And every day I mourned the husband I lost.

By the end, I learned that a person doesn’t have to pack a suitcase and kiss you goodbye to leave you. Sometimes they will slip away quietly right next to you and you cannot reach them. He was gone. Forever.