The Weight of the World

It was a difficult, silent drive back to my mom’s.  When I pulled into the driveway and turned off the ignition we both just sat there, until Michael said, “I’m sorry you feel I let you down.  But the important thing is that now you know what you’re dealing with.  You can’t go back to him.”

“It’s not that simple.  You aren’t even sure about what happened with Cheryl,” I retorted.  “And if he’d treated her that badly, she would have wanted the divorce, not fought it tooth and nail.”

“The psychology of domestic abuse is a strange beast.  Otherwise why would you even consider staying with him?”

“It wasn’t domestic abuse.”

“He broke your arm.  He made you quit law school.  He doesn’t let you have any money, and you can do almost nothing without his approval,” Michael brutally reminded me.  “If that isn’t domestic abuse, I don’t know what is.”

“Well, you might feel that way, but I don't.  I think I owe him another chance," I said, and opened the car door.  This conversation was over.