After a brutal car crash, I was rushed into the emergency room. My husband stormed in moments later, furious. “Cut the drama!” he yelled. “I’m not wasting money on this nonsense—get out of that bed!” He grabbed me, trying to yank me off the mattress. When I resisted, he drove both fists into my stomach. And what happened next… changed everything.

Ethan’s frequent job changes only made things worse. Each time he came home with news of being let go or quitting, he would blame everyone but himself. His bosses were unfair, his co-workers incompetent. And yet, somehow, he managed to twist these failures into reasons why I was the one letting him down. “You’re supposed to make things easier for me,” he’d say. “Instead, you’re just another problem I have to deal with.” I often felt like I was raising two children: Lily and Ethan. While I did everything to make Lily’s childhood happy and safe, Ethan’s unpredictable moods made it a constant challenge. He would criticize her too, scolding her for minor things like leaving toys on the floor or talking too loudly. I found myself stepping in, trying to shield her from his harshness. “Don’t take that tone with her,” I’d say firmly, only for him to turn his anger on me. “Maybe if you taught her some discipline, I wouldn’t have to,” he’d snap back. As the years passed, I stopped trying to argue. It was exhausting, and I knew it would only escalate. Instead, I focused on Lily, pouring all my energy into giving her a sense of stability and love, even as my own spirit wore thin. Ethan, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on control. The man I had once admired had become someone I barely recognized—a man whose words and actions left me feeling small and invisible. And yet, I stayed. For Lily, I told myself. For the hope that one day things might get better.

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