As daylight nears and I reach for him in search of soothe I realize he’s not yet back. I suppose the signs were always there, his delay in offering for my hand in traditional marriage, his reluctance to express his means of income, his desire for me to leave work to care for our child.
My hope was to start a family.
My fear was that my love would not be enough
It started rather well, I thought, not too many hiccups & just enough love.

He started coming home later & later.
I had to start borrowing money for our baby’s diapers.
We went to bed, the maid & I eating peanuts and sipping black tea.
For a very long time I tried to let things be.

Slowly but surely his reactions to questions of his source of income became harsher, sometimes I wasn’t sure he’d be home today or the day after.
I started rationing our food despite his protestation & alarming moods.

The straw that broke the camel’s back, was when he fed left over beef to our dog, leaving the fridge, freezer, pantry empty.
The panic & fear that gripped my heart felt icy cold & lingered for days.

Rent hasn’t been paid, the maid has gone telling our neighbours of how we lived.
I’m potty training our child just in case things get worse.
I’ve been to his sisters & they said they’d set him straight. It has been four months now and I’m yet to feel a change.

There are no jobs that I can take, the work load at home, the baby it’s all I have time for.
I had to cut my hair & lived on the verge of getting dreadlocks, not out of my own desire but hope that he would see that I wasn’t making up stories about needing to get my hair done.

I’m tired, heartbroken & weary.
If it wasn’t for my family’s support, I think I’d be dead, depressed & completely out of sorts.
I’ve been warned that he may try to hit me. I shudder & pray things will improve. The depth of the hurt he’s given me makes me doubt anyone could do worse.
His words are violent, my soul reels from the pain.
Ask me if I love him I’ll tell you yes, again & again.

I’ve resolved that it is over & we are in the beginning of the end.
I’ve made the best of the bad process I hope my child will understand.