The first time I experienced a deep fear of him was when he spilled red wine on a brand new white down comforter, I reacted, and he snapped. The hulk-like transition happened so quickly that all I remember is running to the bathroom, locking the door behind me, and hiding in the bathtub, gripping my knees close to my chest, crying, and praying. He busted the door down in anger, saw me terrified, softened immediately, and offered to hold me. I let him.
That’s a one-time thing, I thought. And he felt awful. Besides, I was a strong, independent, vocal young woman. I would never put up with a man abusing me, verbally, or otherwise. I was the last girl who would be in that position…