You Took Life From Me

My forever love

As I sat in the dim nursery, cradling Dahlia in my arms, I gently rocked her back and forth, trying to soothe her with a lullaby. Her tiny body pressed against me, and I could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she slowly calmed down.

Across the room, Henry was getting dressed for work. The sound of him buttoning his shirt and adjusting his tie filled the silence, a stark contrast to the tender moment I was trying to create with our daughter. I watched him, a knot of frustration tightening in my chest. This was the new Henry-the one who seemed so distant, so cold. The one who had hurt me, not just with his fists, but with his indifference.

"How long will you be gone?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, hoping for a glimpse of the man he used to be.

He didn't look at me. "Forget about it," he replied, his tone dismissive, as if my question didn't even deserve a response.

I felt a wave of anger and hurt wash over me, the same feelings that had been building up inside me for weeks. This wasn't the Henry I married, the man I thought I loved. He had become someone else, someone I hardly recognized. His words, his actions-they were all designed to keep me in my place, to remind me of the power he held over me.

As he finished dressing, I watched him move toward us. He leaned down to kiss Dahlia, his lips brushing against her soft forehead. "I love you, baby girl," he whispered to her, his voice filled with warmth that he hadn't shown me in a long time.

But he didn't even glance in my direction. There was no kiss goodbye, no gentle touch to reassure me. He simply turned and walked away, leaving me alone with our daughter and the heavy silence that followed him out the door.

I sat there, holding Dahlia close, the weight of everything pressing down on me. The fear, the pain, the uncertainty-it all felt like too much. I wanted to believe that things could get better, that the man I once loved was still in there somewhere. But as the days passed, it became harder and harder to hold on to that hope.

All I could do was keep singing to Dahlia, trying to shield her from the darkness that was creeping into our lives, even as I struggled to find a way out for myself.

Later that day:

As I walked into my mother's kitchen, I could see the tension melt away from her face when she noticed Dahlia, her eyes softening as she took in the sight of her granddaughter.

"May I see her?" she asked, her voice holding a mix of curiosity and longing.

I hesitated for a moment but then called out to Alice, "Alice, bring Dahlia here."

Alice came in with Dahlia nestled in her arms, and I gently took her from my sister, cradling her close before handing her over to my mother.

"She's grown so much," my mother remarked, her fingers tracing the outline of Dahlia's tiny face. "You've been feeding her well."

"She's been feeding like crazy," I replied with a small smile, trying to find comfort in the ordinary conversation.

We stood in silence for a brief moment, just the three of us. My mother's gaze lingered on Dahlia's head as she noted, "Look at those curls... they're starting to form."

I couldn't hold back my frustration any longer. As my mother continued to comment on every tiny detail of Dahlia, from her curls to her little fingers, I snapped, "Mom, don't start with this again."

Her face fell, and she looked at me with a mix of hurt and confusion. "Why are you being so dramatic? I'm just talking about my granddaughter."

I was done with the comments. I snatched Dahlia from her arms, holding her close as if shielding her from my mother's scrutiny. "You can see her when you stop picking apart every detail. Until then, I'm taking her home."