Her second Chance.

Behind Closed Doors: The Weight of His Words

Possible tw for DV.

It had been just over a year since Siobhan and roger had become official they moved in together and for the first few months it wasn't as bad as she thought. They shared dinner and funny conversations and overall they loved each other. Until she noticed a drastic  change in him and the way he treated her.

Siobhan sat in the dimly lit room, her eyes tracing the familiar imprints in the ceiling. The air felt thick, suffocating almost, as if the very walls of the huge house she now lived in had absorbed the tension that lingered between them. Outside, the world moved on—people laughed, cars honked, and life carried on—but in here, time had a different rhythm, one dictated by his moods, his whims.

It had been a few months since she first noticed how his words cut deeper than any blade. At first, it had been subtle—small comments about her friends, her clothes, the way she laughed. He would say it with a smile, a casual tone that left her questioning if she was being too sensitive. "You know I’m just trying to help," he would say, his voice soft, almost tender. "I’m the only one who really cares about you."

Those words, once comforting, now felt like a cage. Siobhan had drifted away from the people she used to call friends, convinced that they didn’t understand her the way he did. He was the sun around which her life revolved, but the light he cast had turned cold, leaving her in the shadow of doubt and fear.

Tonight was no different. He sat across from her, his eyes narrowed, dissecting her every move. "Where were you today?" he asked, his voice low but laced with suspicion.

"I told you, I had a meeting after work," Siobhan replied, trying to keep her tone steady. She knew the drill; any hint of defiance would only make things worse.

"A meeting," he echoed, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Funny, you didn’t mention that this morning."

Her heart skipped a beat, her mind scrambling to remember if she had told him or not. It didn’t matter, though—he was always right. At least, that’s what he had conditioned her to believe.

"I’m sorry, I must have forgotten," she said quietly, lowering her gaze to her lap. She felt small under his stare, like a child caught in a lie.

He sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment, and leaned back in his chair. "You’re always forgetting things, Siobhan. You need to be more careful. I just want what’s best for you."

Those words again, the ones that twisted her insides with a mix of guilt and despair. She nodded, too tired to argue, too drained to fight. What was the point? He always found a way to turn things around, to make her feel like she was the one who was failing, who wasn’t enough.

But somewhere deep inside, beneath the layers of fear and self-doubt he had wrapped around her, a tiny spark flickered—a memory of who she used to be before him. A woman with dreams, with a voice that wasn’t drowned out by his. That spark was faint now, almost extinguished, but it was still there, waiting for a chance to breathe, to grow.

For now, though, she remained silent, swallowing the words that threatened to escape. The night stretched on, heavy with unspoken thoughts and uncried tears. She could feel the weight of his control pressing down on her, a constant reminder of the chains that bound her to him. But even in this darkness, she held onto that small spark, praying that one day, it would be enough to set her free.

As she lay in bed that night, his arm draped possessively over her, Siobhan stared into the blackness, her heart aching with the knowledge that she had lost herself in his shadow. The world outside continued to turn, indifferent to her silent cries for help. But deep within her, that spark of defiance, of self-worth, refused to die. It was all she had left, and she clung to it with all the strength she could muster, hoping that one day, it would guide her back to the light.