Tension
mounted as the marriage collapsed. My life revolved around denying he did
nothing while I took care of our children and the responsibility of patients and
residency. He wouldn’t leave his cushy situation and I was as scared of leaving
him as I was of staying. He left for his evening sports game and I executed my
plan:
I
grabbed toys that were nearby and looked at the door, expecting it to burst
open. I’d almost forgotten the boy’s stuffed animals, so I made another run
upstairs so they wouldn’t be without them that first night. The toe of my shoe
caught the top step, and I tumbled onto the oak floor.
Back in the family room, I stopped
to gulp for air. “Cody, Darren, let’s get your jackets, we’re going for a
ride.”
I
drove the several miles of curves at dusk, watching leaves flutter off trees
like fairies on the wind. My temples throbbed. I looked at the boy’s unconcerned
faces and my nervousness eased. Until then, I had not told anyone about my
plans.
We pulled into the apartment parking
lot to ample spaces. I turned off the ignition. I had made it, away from my
husband. I got out with the boys and stepped away from the car. The relief I
felt to leave him felt as if I had grown an eight-foot wingspan and a thermal
updraft soared my spirit over a crisp Alaskan glacier. Spinning around, I
gleefully waved my arms and broke the silence.
“I’m free. I’m free,” I shouted.
“Freeeee.”
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