Wretched Love

“Why didn’t you leave?” she asked after a long silence. It wasn’t an accusation. Not quite. “The first time.”

She studied my face as if trying to make sense of me imploding her whole childhood and everything she knew in a matter of seconds. “Why didn’t you take me and leave?” Closer now to an accusation.

I smiled sadly at her. “Oh, my darling girl. I hope with my entire heart that you never have to know how such a simple question can be so complicated. I wish with everything I am that you will never ask yourself a question like that.”

I regarded my beautiful young woman with her furrowed brows, with her clear skin, the stubborn tilt of her chin.

“No, my sweet, you will never ask yourself that question,” I decided. “You’re not like me. You’re so much stronger. You know yourself so much better. And despite what your father did to me, he gave you the resources to make sure you’ll never be in the position that I was when he first hit me. He gave you the ability to get an education so that you feel confident. A home where you feel loved, where you were celebrated, nurtured. Despite who he was to me, he made it so you’ll never be vulnerable like I was. And I will make sure you are never isolated like I was.”

I sighed, my eyes filling with tears at the mere prospect of my daughter being put in the position that I was.

I’d kill him. Plain and simple. I’d gladly do the time for murdering the man who dared lay hands on my daughter.

“He is still your father,” I added, taking note of the shadows in my daughter’s eyes. The shadows that had not been there moments ago. “He was still at your softball games, your debates, at your father-daughter dance. I am not telling you this to make you hate him. I do not want you to choose sides in this.” I sighed under the weight I was putting on my daughter. “But you’re an adult. I could not hide this from you even though I was sorely tempted.” I stroked her face. “I told you without any kind of agenda. He is your father, and he loves you. Despite everything else.”

She stared at me, blinking rapidly as she absorbed the information. I gave her a moment. Then another. I was demolishing her world, after all. I was bracing for any and all reactions.

My Violet was everything I hadn’t been. Strong. Passionate. Stubborn. Unafraid to speak her mind, to go toe-to-toe with whoever she thought was in the wrong.

I’d been lucky with her, though. In a lot of ways, I’d grown up with her, having her so young. She never gave me the crap a lot of teenage girls gave their mothers. She did not test me or Preston with boyfriends who were bad for her; she did not break curfew or skip school. There were no screaming matches or slamming of doors in our house.

Sure, there was some attitude, some disagreements, but my daughter was gifted. She didn’t win state debate for nothing. She had a way about her, an elegance when she argued. An intelligence. She never lost her cool, raised her voice, and often, you didn’t even know she’d won the argument until hours later. Even Preston wasn’t immune to her. Something he’d always found endearing, despite his hatred for me even hinting that I disagreed with him.

I was afraid, deathly so, that this news would cause my beautiful girl to explode. That I’d get the screaming, the silence, the ‘I hate you’ that many mothers had to weather.

I deserved it all. So I braced myself. I was ready for any and all reactions.

Or so I thought.

“Daddy beat you for almost my entire life, and you expect me to… forgive him?” she asked slowly, a wrinkle forming between her eyes. “You expect me to continue to speak to him, to spend holidays with him, to be in the same room as him?”

It was my turn to blink rapidly at her. “I don’t expect anything from you, Violet,” I said gently. “Whatever you wish to do, whatever relationship you want with your father, it’s yours to have.”

She stood, obviously unable to take this in while seated. I stood, too, in case she tried to do something like run from the room.

“Relationship?” she repeated. She began pacing. “You think I want a relationship with him now?” Her voice had risen, her cheeks reddening with emotion.

“Honey, you don’t have to make any decisions—”

“No,” she interrupted. “You’re right. Dad was at all my games. Only because he knew that’s what everyone expected him to do. What made him look the part. He was at my father-daughter dance even though I didn’t want to go in the first place, but he forced me because some big shot finance guy had a daughter going to my school.”

My breath hitched, unable to fathom that Violet had managed to see those things when she was so young. Unable to fathom that I’d been blind to how much my daughter had seen, and hating myself for not noticing.

Her eyes found Swiss who was now standing behind me, apparently no longer able to watch from afar.

“You’re not going to let him hurt her again, are you?” she asked, though it was more of a demand.

“No, darlin’,” he promised. His hands were tight around my hips. My knees felt like they were made of rubber, so I was grateful he was there.

Violet nodded purposefully after measuring Swiss’s response. “He’s dead to me,” she declared, emanating an iciness I’d never thought her capable of.

I flinched at the tone.

“Violet, you—”

“No, Mom,” she held up a hand, halting me. “I understand what you’re trying to do. I respect it even though I don’t fully understand why you’d defend him after what he did to you.” She stood still, staring at a blank space on the wall for a moment before pulling her shoulders back. “But no. I don’t want a relationship with a father who almost killed my mother.”

She exhaled deeply after she said those words aloud, the reality of them truly sinking in.