I felt the sting of his hand slapping my face again; tears streamed from my eyes. I have to stop crying in front of him. I need to look strong.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered. I couldn’t manage anything louder, and hated myself for it.

“Go back to the kitchen, and make something decent! I don’t work all day so you can take my money and do nothing!”

I rushed to the kitchen and tried to find something to make. I could barely see through the tears, but I had to be quick or he’d hit me more. I found some steak and started cooking.

I couldn’t take this any more – I had to leave him. Tonight I’d pack my things while he’s sleeping, and tomorrow I’d leave while he’s at work; tomorrow, I could start a new life, and find a man that would treat me right.

I planned it all out while cooking, wiping my tears away; my hurt was replaced by anger. How could he do this to me?

He came in while I was dishing up the steak. I turned to face him, full of anger – and stopped. He was crying more than I’d been; his eyes were painfully red.

“I’m sorry, baby, it was my fault,” he opened his arms and sniffed, “I’ll never do it again, I promise. Don’t leave me…I love you.”

I took a hesitant step forward, then broke down in his arms, “I’m sorry…I wont. I love you too…I’m sorry.”

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