It is the dim light of afternoon.  My teen daughters are staying with

friends, which I am very thankful for. I am glued to a corner of my

youngest daughter's bedroom...my pulse racing, my left upper arm

bleeding from a glass cut, and my throat displaying bruises from an

attack that took place just moments earlier.  The man who had choked

me unmercifully, then pushed me onto the hardwood floor, was still

waiting in the hallway. I had frantically closed the bedroom door to stop

him. But, he continued to scream the most horrifying obscenities,

describing what a "pig" and a "whore" I was.  Quickly, I pushed a small

piece of furniture against the closed door, as now, he was trying to

shove his way in. 

           "Be quiet, Rachel!" I whispered to myself. "Oh, God, I can't let

him push his way back in!"  Then, as I stared at the chaos of broken

objects strewn about me, I heard the incessant scolding of voices,

playing like a recording in my head. "How did this happen? How did you

let this happen! What a stupid girl you are! You must have done

something to deserve this!  Besides, no one could ever love a fool

like you, Rachel!"

            "SHHHH!"  I whispered.  As I heard footsteps walking away from

the bedroom, I realized the "attacker" must have retreated to the living

room. Perhaps, he was too drunk to continue his onslaught upon me.

As I lifted my shaking and disheveled self from the bedroom corner, I

knew that my husband of twenty years would be "sleeping this one off."

And I would be spending one more evening cursing the day I was born!