On the back, she had written:
“Sometimes the people who save us aren’t the ones who promised they would.”
I started crying.
Not because I was sad.
Because I was grateful.
That evening, I sat beside my apartment window and watched the sunset.
For the first time in years, there was no one waiting to criticize my dinner, question my decisions, or remind me that I wasn’t good enough.
My home was quiet.
My bank account was mine.
My future belonged to me.
I thought about that night in the kitchen.
About the rolling pin.
About the television playing while I lay helpless on the floor.
And about the terrible moment when I realized my husband wasn’t coming to save me.
I used to believe that the worst thing Diane had done was break my leg.
I was wrong.
The worst thing was that she and Paul had convinced me for years that I deserved the way they treated me.
