“She was washing dishes. A much-needed distraction. Of course, she did not feel like washing dishes. She wanted to sleep or talk on the phone to her BFF. She was just so tired but knew she had to make an effort.
There was another argument. Probably the norm these days. Again she heard He “was done.” Second verse same as the first “I am done.” Holding back tears with her trembling hands in the soapy water, she did not want him to see her cry. Even though there is most definitely strength in tears, now was not the time. Silently asking herself, “How many times do I have to hear “I am done” before it breaks me?” She did not know how to answer her own question. She has the fight in her. She was born a fighter because she comes from strength. It’s just sometimes the fight is hard. She is feeling defeated, and insecure. Those three little words “I am done” hurts her more than being punched in the face from her past relationships. It hurts her to her core. For a moment, she thinks about cutting herself. Something she used to use as a coping mechanism decades ago. Box cutter, or razor blade, she knows how to do it. Cutting was Her way of making her feel anything than the here and now. She does not do it, she knows she has to remain strong and continues to mindlessly wash the dishes.
He comes into the kitchen. Either to get something to eat or to put a dish in the sink. She is unsure. Her thoughts are everywhere. All She wants is a sign. A small sign. Anything. A hug, a brush against the arm. She wants to hear something she can cling on to. Maybe an “I am sorry.” Or “We will get through this” or even no words, maybe nothing needs to be said, but a small minuscule touch would mean something.
There was nothing. There no hug, no kiss on the cheek. There were no words.
She wishes for more. A small sign, something.
But, if she were to be honest with herself, she knows it is not looking good.
She will keep fighting though. But, everyday that passes, she realizes she is closer to facing the cold heart truth.”