Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Violet turned from the bookshelves to look at me. Her eyes went to Swiss in the kitchen then back. She was still a little wary around him, understandably, but he was winning her over. It was impossible not to. He hadn’t schooled his affection with me, hadn’t toned it down for the sake of my daughter. The entire night, he’d absently laid kisses on the side of my head, took dishes from my hands when I’d tried to clean up, pulled me onto his lap when I walked by. Violet had seen all of this, and I’d watched her scrunch her nose in confusion, trying to process it. She had not witnessed easy and genuine affection like that before, because I’d never experienced it until Swiss.
I patted the cushion for Violet to sit.
“What I’m about to tell you isn’t going to go down smooth, so I want to give you this to soften the edges.” I chewed my lips. “If that’s even possible.”
“You’re scaring me, Mom,” Violet said gravely.
My insides shredded. “I know, baby, and I hate it,” I whispered.
I lifted the shot glasses, handing her one. She took it, and we both stared at each other for a tick before downing them.
The burn was the only thing on my mind for a split second, and it was a welcome respite. But it didn’t last for long.
“Okay, sweetie, I’m gonna tell you something.” I took in a deep breath while placing the shot glass back on the coffee table. “And it’s something I’ve wrestled with. Something I’ve doubted whether I should burden you with the truth of. And ultimately something I feel you deserve to know.” I tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “If you weren’t such an adult, so shrewd, worldly and thoughtful, I could maybe get away with some half-truths. But you, my darling, are not someone to be satisfied with those. So I’m going to give it to you. The gruesome truth. Are you ready?”
Violet stared at me, really exploring my face, gauging my expression and the severity I guessed was painted on it.
She took a deep, visible breath. Bracing herself. “I’m ready.”
“You’re going to have a lot of questions,” I sighed. “And this is not something that I will be able to give you in one sitting or be able to explain away. It’s taken me months to even digest this myself, and I suspect it’ll take a lot longer to accept and fully process everything. I hate that it will do the same to you.”
Tears prickled the backs of my eyes, but I fought them. With what I had to tell my daughter, I couldn’t be a weak, sobbing mess. My only saving grace was that I was stronger now. A different person. One I felt comfortable with my daughter looking up to.
“You know I met your father when I was young,” I began. “Younger than you.”
She nodded, very aware that her mother had been a teenager when she gave birth to her. When I was her age, I was married. I was about to move into my first home with my husband. I had an almost three-year-old.
“And you know that I had a… difficult upbringing,” I swallowed thickly.
Violet nodded again. She did not and would never know the specifics of what my childhood was like. I was giving her enough harsh truths tonight.
“I didn’t know much love or kindness,” I explained. “So when I met your father, your grandparents, they were the only true family I’d ever had. And I didn’t have anything or anyone else but you and them.” I reached over to squeeze her hand. “And you, baby, were and still are my entire world. All I’ve ever wanted was to give you the life I never had.”
I sucked in a deep breath.
“So when your father hit me for the first time, when it became clear that if I left him, I wouldn’t have anything… that I wouldn’t have you, I stayed. I stayed because I was young, I was your age. Because I didn’t know what else to do. Didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
There they were. The words, the knowledge. It was out there. I couldn’t take it back.
I watched my daughter’s face contort with shock and pain as my words sank in.
“Daddy… hit you?” she choked out.
It felt like someone was squeezing my lungs when I heard the pain in her voice. “He did, honey,” I managed to reply evenly.
“And it wasn’t just once.” My throat burned as I took a deep breath, hating that I wasn’t done, hating that there was more. “And it wasn’t every day either. He wasn’t constantly cruel or evil. He was loving, kind and caring a lot of the time. He was the daddy you knew for a good portion of our marriage. Until he wasn’t.”