He used those words like a stamp, pressing them over every argument until mine disappeared.
I was too tired and too ashamed to fight. The baby pressed against my ribs, my back screamed, and my throat burned with tears I refused to shed in front of him.
So I said nothing.
I gathered my pregnancy pillow, slipped my swollen feet into flip-flops, and walked out.
Three flights of stairs.
In August.
At three in the morning.
I thought he would apologize the next morning. I imagined him standing in the kitchen, embarrassed, handing me coffee and saying he had been stressed and stupid.
Instead, at 6:34 a.m., my phone buzzed against the dashboard.
You can come back up now.
Continue on the next page:
