They Called it Happily Ever After

Broken. Bruised.

Alone.

Gracie in all her years had never thought that dark smudges would adorn her arms like a makeup palette, their deep aches threading all through her body and into her heart.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Even now, if she clenched her eyes tight enough, she could picture her wedding day - the white and yellow streamers, the smiles, the joyous dancing - it had been the happiest day of her life.

She hadn't thought the happiness would end there.

But how many months - no weeks - had it taken for that first sledge-hammer fist to fall upon her body? How many times had the door been slammed as he left, his breath rancid with alcoholic perfume, his boots heavy on the wooden porch?

And each time she heard the pickup truck engine roar to life, and those wheels spin on the gravel driveway, she found herself hoping - wishing - that this was where it ended. That maybe, just maybe, he would return - he would apologize - he would change.

He never did.

Although her rear ached from sitting on the hard floor - although she knew that she should move before he came back - she couldn't bring herself to stand. What was the point? Either way she'd be unable to dodge the next hurricane of fury. Either way she'd become a punching bag - an outlet for anger she didn't even understand.

She knew a wife's job was to be tender. She hadn't thought it meant being tenderized like a piece of meat.

It was a long time before she heard wheels on the driveway again, and she tensed - a marble statue in the liquid silver rays pouring through the bedroom window.

Heavy boots clomped up the porch.

A heavy hand knocked on the door.

Gracie slowly unthawed. If he was home, he wouldn't be knocking. That meant some other angel - of death or otherwise - had come to pay her a visit.

She pulled a silken housecoat over her night dress, covering the welts on her arms - signatures of a decidedly brutal man. There was nothing she could do for her face. She prayed the shadows would obscure the worst of the damage.

Opening the door revealed a police officer, her dark hair pulled into a bun, her face solemn and closed.

"Gracie Haggert? We have some unfortunate news. Your husband's truck was found crashed into a tree on highway five. He was rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. We regret to inform you that he is dead."

Maybe the officer expected Gracie to cry. Maybe she thought she'd delivered terrible news.

She didn't seem to expect the slow smile unfurling at the corners of Gracie's mouth, and the sudden light in her blue eyes.

"Ye know officer," Gracie said, giddiness bubbling inside her like a prairie spring, "On the day of my weddin', they called in happily ever after. Well I'll tell ye a secret. They lied."