Long night

When she thinks the worst is over, it comes up again. A brusque two-letter word is keeping her awake tonight. It threw her back to the time when V chased her from one bedroom to the other, hand upraised, and she fell back on the bed, remembering to say firmly,"You will not touch me." The spite in the eyes, the long moment when she thought that wouldn't work...morphing onto the moment years later when she cowered on the landing covering her head, saying tremblingly, "Don't touch me in front of the kids," while they watched from the top of the stairs. Chased down from stair to stair she said she was leaving, walked, opened the gate and stood there while V loudly said "Where do you think you are going?" "Away," she said but never did. Some days later, her son said,"I will tell papa to hit you." And she remembered where all this was coming from. The sons watching the father break down the door, saying he would kill the mother, the story she heard long long after she had committed herself. After that, it remained the excuse, and the justification.
She will protect her children from this legacy as best as she can, she determined, and stayed on, saccharine-sweet, supported by John Irving, Stephen Covey and friends when the latter were permitted. Would anyone ever imagine that she, "you look so young," "so positive" was part of this? And getting the moniker "Fucking bitch" after one John Irving-induced discussion. Those are the 3 defining moments of this part of her life. The upraised hand, the stairs and the name no one had ever called her to her face. Tonight other defining moments are a blur. She hopes she remembers the happier ones tomorrow so she can sleep.