Invades

Written for https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/category/what-do-you-see/

Waves lap at my bare feet. Not aware of her presence at first; a swarm of loathing invades my thoughts. Whipping my face, the wind relishes in its hate. I touch my sleeve, where his hands gripped only minutes before.

‘He’s not sorry …’ Nan says.

An excuse he repeat far too much. I escape into my mind when his fists thrust into my body. Could I be on time with his dinner? I do the wrong thing; but I don’t mean to. Perhaps it is my lack of high standards is where the blame lies.

‘Tabitha … we need to talk.’

Nan, the only person to understand the fear, links her hands in mine, bringing me into a hug. No words needed. I admit to failing as a wife. He has so many pressures; not the same as granddad, I am just unworthy.

I sink into the sand. My weak legs melt. His cold sneer pastes on my guilt, ready to take the blame.

Even now, his texts bombard my senses. ‘‘I’m sorry, it was a tough day. You know how I expect it when I get home. You must agree, we work together, not against each other.’’

She lifts it from my grasp, reading his message, and pushes it away as if it is nothing more than cracked glass.

‘When I lived with … Thomas, his many faces hid. I could prepare the perfect meal, but he would find fault. If I took you to the park, I shouldn’t have seen you. Every night it, with a select few of neighbours, nobody would have guessed. Miles is an expert in showing his gentle side with others, but behind closed doors, his dark colours batter my lovely granddaughter.’

‘He can change.’

‘Sweetheart … all … Thomas ever told me, was sorry. It got to the point where I couldn’t function without him. I see the same settlement in you. Yes, he probably is stressed at work, but you find it difficult to breathe at home. How often do you panic about dinner, or that a speck of dust is on your furniture?’

Her words slowly sink, but another text brings doubt.

‘Don’t …’