No More Victim: Love's Dark Turn

ted with a rage that was uglier than any pain I had ever known. Her han

she hissed, her voic

her nails digging into my skin. My father, Richard, just stood by th

-risk pregnancy, and every doctor had told her to stay put. But Chloe wanted to show off her perfect life and her

hours in the car were dangerous. I tol

ad said, waving a dismissive hand. "You' r

thing," my father added, his eyes gleaming with gre

e disaster I predicted happened. A small fender bender, my fault they said, because I was d

t the trip, or Chloe' s recklessne

es turning dark. My lungs burned for air that wouldn' t come.

always a

blac

was in my small, cramped art studio, the smell of turpentine and oil paint filling my nos

bruises. No pain. I looked at my arms. No cr

o the small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall. My face

sound cutting through the impossibl

o

ted on the cluttered table. This was it. This was th

in, the betrayal, the chilling finality of their hatred. I remembered the weight o

ly started again. They were persistent. T

and sharp. I had begged them, I had warned them, I had tried to be the voice of reason. I h

would be

d up th

I said, my

through the speaker. "I was about to give up on y

ckground, something about needing a

id for by my brother-in-law, Ethan. My parents, so proud of their successf

and my energy when I didn't. They belittled my art, my life, my very existence, while holding Chloe up as a paragon of virtu

. And I had let them feed on me

ipping with fake concern. "And we thought, what better way to cheer her

ckles turning white. The words were

'No' . To list all the medical reasons why it was a suicid

y throat lingered. The memory of the

a daughter. They w

face. It felt foreign, like a mask

a note of bright enthusiasm into m

silence on the oth

would help them. I would give them everything