My One Year Husband Wants Me Forever

The first thing I remember was the sound of my mother’s hand striking my face. It cracked through the room so loudly that for a moment everything else went silent. My head snapped to the side, and before I could steady myself, my feet slipped from under me. I fell hard onto the kitchen floor, my shoulder hitting the tiles with a dull thud. For a few seconds, I just lay there, stunned. My cheek burned where she had slapped me. I slowly touched it, my fingers shaking, and when I looked up, my mother was standing over me with a look that held no regret. Only anger. “Maybe that will teach you to stop talking back,” she said coldly. “I wasn’t talking back,” I murmured, trying to push myself up. “I was trying to explain—” “I don’t want to hear it!” she snapped. Her voice filled the small kitchen, bouncing off the walls. I flinched, my heart racing. I had seen this look on her face many times before. Once she reached this point, nothing I said mattered anymore. But I tried anyway. “Mom, please,” I said quietly. “You don’t understand. Dad—” “Don’t you dare start with that again, Fiona.” Her words cut me off instantly. My chest tightened. “But it’s true,” I whispered. “He was drunk last night. He grabbed me and—” “Enough!” she shouted. I went silent. She ran a hand through her hair, clearly frustrated. “I am tired of hearing you accuse your father,” she said. “He works hard for this family. The least you can do is show some respect.” Respect. The word made my stomach twist painfully. Respect for a man who came home every night smelling like alcohol. Respect for a man whose temper grew worse with every bottle he emptied. I had tried telling her so many times. I had tried explaining what happened when he stumbled into my room late at night. But she never believed me. Not once. “You’re lying,” she continued, glaring down at me. “You’ve always had a talent for making up stories.” Tears burned behind my eyes. “I’m not lying,” I whispered. But my voice sounded weak, even to my own ears. My mother sighed heavily, like she was dealing with a stubborn child. “Go to your room,” she said. I stared at her. “What?” “You heard me. Go to your room. Since you clearly don’t know how to behave, you can stay there until you learn some respect.” My chest tightened again. “Mom—” “Now, Fiona!” I slowly got to my feet, my legs still shaky from the fall. My cheek still stung, and I could feel tears threatening to spill over. But I didn’t cry in front of her. Without another word, I turned and walked down the narrow hallway toward my room. The door creaked as I pushed it open. I stepped inside and sat on the edge of my bed, trying to steady my breathing. A moment later, I heard her footsteps behind me. Then the door slammed shut, and the click of the lock echoed in the quiet room. For a long time, I just stared at the door. She had locked me in. Again. I slowly slid down from the bed until I was sitting on the floor, my back against the wall. The house was quiet now. Dad hadn’t come home yet, which meant he was probably still at the bar. The thought made my stomach knot. I wrapped my arms around myself and rested my forehead on my knees. I had tried so many times to tell her the truth. I had told her about the nights Dad came into my room drunk and angry. About the way he shoved me when I tried to get away. About the bruises that sometimes appeared on my arms the next morning. But every time I spoke, she looked at me the same way. Like I was the problem. Like I was some pathetic liar. And tonight, something inside me finally broke. It became painfully clear that I wasn’t really part of this family. Maybe I never had been. The realization hurt more than the slap. Tears finally slipped down my cheeks, and I buried my face in my arms as quiet sobs shook my body. At some point, exhaustion took over. Curled up there on the cold floor, I cried myself to sleep. *** The sound of the door unlocking woke me the next morning. My eyes slowly opened, and the bright light from the hallway made me squint as the door creaked open. My sister, Anna, leaned against the doorframe, looking down at me with a crooked smile. “Well, look at this,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “Sleeping on the floor like a stray dog.” I slowly pushed myself up, my body aching from the hard surface. “Anna… please,” I murmured. She stepped into the room, her eyes scanning my messy hair and wrinkled clothes. “You look disgusting,” she said with a small laugh. “Honestly, Fiona, have you ever looked at yourself in a mirror?” I hugged my arms around my body instinctively. “I just want to leave,” I said quietly. “Of course you do,” she replied. “But where would you go? No one wants you.” Her words stung deeply. Anna always knew exactly how to hurt me. “You’re fat, awkward, and embarrassing,” she continued. “If I looked like you, I’d hide in this room forever.” I lifted my arms slightly, shielding my face. “Please stop,” I whispered. She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” Then she stepped aside and opened the door wider. “Mom said you can come out now,” she added casually. “Maybe next time you’ll remember your place.” I didn’t respond. I simply walked past her and left the room. An hour later, I found myself standing outside the small auto repair shop where Tommy worked. The familiar smell of old oil and metal filled the air as I stepped inside. Tommy was crouched beside a car, wiping his hands with a rag. When he saw me, his face immediately brightened. “Fiona!” he said warmly. “Hey. What are you doing here?” My chest tightened. Tommy had always been kind to me. He never laughed at me or insulted me like everyone else did. In fact, he was the only person who ever made me feel… safe. “I just needed to see you,” I said softly. He frowned slightly, noticing my tired eyes. “Are you okay?” I hesitated. Then suddenly, a thought formed in my mind. It came out of nowhere, but once it appeared, it refused to leave. What if I didn’t have to stay in that house anymore? What if there was another way out? Tommy had always cared about me. Maybe, just maybe, he cared enough. My heart began pounding as the idea took shape. Before I could lose my courage, the words spilled out. “Tommy, will you marry me?” The question hung in the air between us. His eyes widened in shock as he stared at me and for a moment, I was certain I had just ruined everything. But then, to my absolute disbelief, Tommy slowly nodded and smiled. “Yeah,” he said. My breath caught as I turned to face him. “You will?” He nodded again, as though to assure me that he was being serious. “Yeah, I will.” And with that response, everything changed.