by Eliya Biton18 May 2020
His voice was cold as ice. He walked into my house and threw his coat on the couch. Softly I asked: make you a cup of tea? "He stared at me like a cat before the fight and replied in rejection. We sat facing each other in front of the burning fireplace with no utterance. The silence penetrated my bones and flooded my eyes with puddles that popped out of my eyes nonstop. The bloodstains on his shirt spoke his deeds, the scratches on his face expressed his anger and his clenched fists proved his constant struggle to achieve his will. Suddenly shouts of roar emerged from the outside, I ran without looking back, locked the door of my house on my son sitting in front of the fireplace and turned to save my husband. The husband who had been proved to me how superfluous I was, the husband who beat me up when he was filled with anger, who wanted to get drunk and run away when it was hard, this husband I went to rescue from my son who wanted to save me from myself and from his father. I opened the trunk door, and there he lay, bounding and bleeding, looking and smiling as if he had seen his love. A black cloud covered the sky, I gazed my look down and one tear slipped on my lips, a wide grin on my face and the thought flying through my mind, the thought of being a free, new woman. I walked into the house with strange feeling, a feeling like a following me, and that what it was, a shadow of a new woman. I hugged my son with no willing to release. I made teacups to keep the cold from penetrating the body and shouted out first words of freedom: I can get used to it.