My fists hit the table.
His fists hit my flesh.
The bitter taste of blood and regret sit on my tongue.
As I look into his eyes,
I remember a day when I saw the endless color of blue
and what I thought was love.
Now, all I can see is a reflection of my own sorrow.
Our home was one of passion.
Today, it’s solitude.
I no longer know the touch of a gentle hand
Yet, I lay one on my bulging stomach.
Can I build a family out of fear?
Would his rough hands be the first to cradle our baby girl’s head?
Would the putrid stench of whiskey on his breath be the first to fill her nostrils?
Would I let him taint the beauty of new life?
I could save her before he took it all away.
Her innocence, her joy.
Just as he stole mine.
But they always told me the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.