I'll Be Seeing You

Two.

I grew up in a broken home. My dad walked out before I was born, and by the time I turned one, my mom had already moved on and gotten married. My stepdad took me in as his own, and for a while, life felt good. Safe. Normal. 

But as I got older, the cracks started to show. Mom and Darren fought constantly—screaming matches that shook the walls, dishes breaking, doors slamming. Eventually, it turned physical. I'd hide in my room, trying to drown out the chaos with music, pillows, anything. But no matter how much I tried to block it out, the noise always found me.

By my teens, I had become the new target. When Mom wasn't around, Darren would take his anger out on me. I started wearing long sleeves to school, even in the heat, to cover the bruises. I made a promise to myself back then: I would never end up like my mother. I would never let a man control me, hit me, scream at me like that. One day, I would find someone who truly loved me—someone who didn't have to raise his voice to be heard, who talked through problems instead of throwing fists or putting holes in walls.

But here I am. Lying in this bed, wondering where it all went wrong. Why didn't I leave the first time Chris snapped? The first time he raised his voice, the first hole he punched through the drywall? I think, deep down, I wanted to fix him. I told myself there was a good man buried somewhere beneath the rage. That if I loved him enough, supported him enough, I could bring him back to life.

But the truth is, I never really knew Chris. Not the real him. I only knew the version he let me see in the beginning—the charming, attentive one who made me feel like I was finally safe. That man? He never existed.

Chris didn't come home last night. So I took Lilly with me to Jackson's. We cuddled up on the couch and watched movies until she fell asleep, her tiny hand curled in mine. She didn't ask about her dad—not once. And that silence said everything. She was used to him disappearing. Used to being forgotten.

My heart ached for her. On the outside, she had what looked like a great life—more toys than she could play with, clothes with tags still on them, every gadget a kid could want. Chris bought her everything. He thought that was enough. That money and gifts could make up for the things he refused to give—his time, his presence, his heart.

But she adored him anyway. He was her daddy. And she didn't see what I saw. At least, not yet. That was the other problem. His family didn't see it either—or worse, they chose not to. Chris had been this way for so long, it had just become normal to them. His drinking, his anger, his absence—they shrugged it off. 

I tried talking to his mom about it more than once. She brushed it aside every time. When I mentioned leaving, she and his sisters would beg me to stay, saying how much he loved me, how one day I'd be his wife. But the truth is, they weren't any better than him. They enabled him. They made excuses. They helped him hide it. Jackson was different though. He saw through the act, at least a little. Enough to worry.

That morning, he made breakfast for me and Lilly. We hung around the house, waiting to see if Chris would show up to take her back to her mom. He never called. Never texted. With less than an hour to go, I packed up her things and borrowed Jackson's car.

When I pulled into the McDonald's parking lot, Lisa was already there. She didn't look surprised to see me behind the wheel instead of Chris. Not even a little. It wasn't the first time I'd had to do his job for him. And I knew it wouldn't be the last.

"What's wrong?" Lisa asked as we stepped out of the car.

"Is it that obvious?" I said with a weak smile.

"Lilly, why don't you go inside and play for a bit while Alyssa and I talk, okay?"

"Sure, Mommy! I love you, Lyssa!"