Day of Reckoning
She crept into my room last night, her bare feet making only the slightest sound on the wood floor. As she approached the bed, I lifted the covers up for her like I did every time, and she slid under them, curling up against me. Even in the darkness I could see the puffiness of her lip and eye, and I could only imagine what other marks marred her normally pale and finely formed features.
I pulled her toward me even closer, and she made the faintest cry of pain.
"Shh," I soothed. "It's okay now. I've got you."
"Okay," she sniffled back and started to cry.
I could feel the hot teardrops falling on my neck and arms, and I cradled her head against my chest. Her sobs poured out in ragged breaths, and I continued to make reassuring noises, letting her release all her fear and pain as I held her. Finally, she fell silent and asleep.
I lay there thinking. This was not the first time this had happened, nor would it be the last. Unless I stopped it. Me. All of 4'10" and 90 pounds soaking wet, but with the fury of a trapped lion. This had gone on for too long, and I could no longer justify cowering behind my own fear.
I slipped out of bed and grabbed the baseball bat in the corner. As I opened the door, light spilled into the room and on the sleeping form within.
"This is for you, Mom," I whispered. "No more pain."
Heaving the bat, I went out to confront the monster who was my father.