NANOWRIMO 2020

11.09 Dignity and Grace

Shelly didn't want to leave without causing an uproar.

Her bags were packed and she had important documents carefully tucked into the hidden pocket of her purse slung across her shoulder. A few hundred dollar bills that she had saved up over the last 6 years were stashed in a pantyhose down at the bottom of her largest suitcase and she was hoping she wouldn't have to break it out any time soon.

Then again, she was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this at all yet here she was, about to run away from her husband on the eve of their anniversary.

Some things you just couldn't predict, Shelly thought bitterly. Except in her case, she probably could have avoided it completely if she had listened to her best friend all those years ago. Cheyenne had read her fortune and predicted a horrible marriage, but Shelly didn't believe in that. That palm reading and tarot card nonsense was just that: nonsense.

And besides, she and Matt were perfect for each other.

If only she could go back in time and slap her silly self.

Cheyenne was right, and now Shelly was standing at the locked door to her bedroom and hoping against hope that she would have the strength to walk out of the house. And to never come back.

She gripped the cross at her throat and prayed for forgiveness. She knew there was no going back once she did this and that her own family would blacklist her, but she couldn't stand another day in this household.

Not another night crying in the bathroom.

Not another morning powdering the blue finger marks across her neck.

Not another evening frozen in the kitchen, waiting for the static of the TV to be drowned out by her husband's snores.

She'd rather die on the streets than under him.

And doing it today, right before their seventh anniversary, was Shelly's one act of defiance. In the middle of the holiday season, she wanted to strip him of marital comfort and express her independence of him once and for all. A Christmas shock for him, a present for her.

Shelly calmed herself and smoothed the lapels of her dark purple peacoat. Her hand lingered at the rosary at her throat and she flattened her hair, the tight blonde curls at shoulder-length bouncing to attention.

Now or never.

She unlocked the door and walked with purpose into the adjoining living room, her checkered corduroy suitcase dragging behind her.

Her eyes locked onto Matt and he looked up from the steaming turkey on the dining table to his wife, posed for all the world like a woman leaving her husband.

He straightened and gave her a cold, indecent look. His hand holding the carving knife dropped to his side and he raised an eyebrow.

"What's this," He asked, lips barely moving.

"I'm leaving," Shelly said. "Goodbye."

"What do you mean," Matt implored, swinging his arms out and cutting the air with the knife, still clenched in his veiny palm. "It's Thanksgiving. We should celebrate. We have to celebrate." His hands were in the air, but his eyes were still staring at his wife. "This is Junior's first Thanksgiving."

Giggling behind Matt and eyeing his mother with unbridled glee was Matthew Junior, the bouncing baby boy of the hour.

Shelly shook her head, eyes tearing up at Junior's rosy cheeks and chubby little arms flailing in the air, asking to be picked up.

She felt her stomach clench in fear.

She opened her mouth to say something, but gaped at her son before closing it and turning towards the door.

She had nothing left to say. She had nothing left. No more words to give him.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING," Matt roared at Shelly, taking a menacing step forward but Shelly stayed her course across the living room, to the front door, out of the house, across the lawn, into a waiting cab.

Matt gaped at her exit.

"Matthew," his mother appeared at his elbow and shakily tried to pull the knife from his steely grasp to no avail. "Matthew," she cried.

"Matt," his father walked in from the dining room. "Matt calm down son, calm down."

"Matt, Matt. It's okay," his brothers came from the couch in the living room and his uncles and aunts and cousins materialized into his view and called his name and formed a barrier between him and Shelly, already out the door, already who knows how far away, already planning on sleeping around with who knows—

His uncles and aunts and cousins formed a line between Matt and the woman walking away from him. They formed a human barricade between him and the woman with tears down her face and barely concealed bruises across her cheeks. They formed an impenetrable wall of horrible questions between him and the woman he swore to love and protect.

Matt's ears were ringing and he felt like he was blacking out.

"Matthew."