My husband hit me Tuesday. Wednesday I made his grits. He thinks I forgave him. His mother thinks she won. In forty minutes both of them are going to find out what the quiet one has been doing since March, and neither of them is going to be able to stop what happens next.
He hit me for asking where he had been all night. Once, open-handed, in the kitchen where I raised his children. I did not cry. I picked the plate up …
My husband hit me Tuesday. Wednesday I made his grits. He thinks I forgave him. His mother thinks she won. In forty minutes both of them are going to find out what the quiet one has been doing since March, and neither of them is going to be able to stop what happens next. Read More