Escape

She still couldn't shake the previous night's dream. When she looked down at her hands, all she could see was his blood. No, it was just a dream, only a dream. She knew she needed to stop thinking about it and just hurry. He would be ready for work soon and breakfast was not yet ready.

Just as she was setting the breakfast plates on the table, he entered the kitchen. As she sat down at the table across from him, she felt her heart begin to pound, the remnants of the dream again dancing through her mind. She tried to eat, but could only push the eggs around her plate. When she looked up, she saw that her husband had also stopped eating. He was sitting there, staring, no, glaring, at her. He leaned toward her, "I told you I was sorry. What else do you want from me? What's done is done, I can't take it back." Before she could respond, he threw down his fork, and stormed toward the door. After opening the door, he turned, one last time. "You really are a vindictive witch. Why can't you just leave the past alone? Get over it."

She stood in his wake, trembling. The past.? It was yesterday. And last week, and 3 months before that. "It" had happened many times over the last 10 years. If it keeps happening, how is that the past? Isn't that also the present... and the future?

As she walked back toward the kitchen, she studied the marble floors, the designer furniture. She was married to a successful, handsome man. She picked out her dream home and he bought it for her. Most days, he doted on her: the best jewelry, fine wine, back rubs. He remembered her favorite restaurants, movies, colors, and authors. He remembered the date they met, every anniversary, her family's birthdays. What was wrong with her? She was Cinderella.

But at that second, in their full- length mirror, she saw the real Cinderella. The black eye, the dried blood on her swollen lip, the scratches on her neck, and the numerous bruises covering her arms and legs. She felt the throbbing in her head, the stabbing behind her eyes, the fire on her neck. She realized how tired she was, how hard it was to move her arms and legs.

Then last night's dream began to replay in her mind. First the yelling and screaming, then the pain and fear. In her mind's eye, she once again searched for a door, for an escape. But every door she tried, he was faster. He ridiculed her attempts at escape, punished her for them. Then she saw it again, her escape, the gun, it lay there, taunting her. As she picked it up in her dream, she knew what she must do.

Throwing her vision aside, she headed again for their bedroom. She grabbed her suitcases, filled only what she needed. What she left behind, she knew she would never be able to retrieve. On her way back through the house, the tears began to flow. She mourned for what should have been. For the love she had worked so hard for. For the life to which she had given everything. Until she walked through the front door, and began to feel safe.