"Family" Dinner

TW: Domestic Violence/Abuse

I carefully placed the final bunch of meat into the bowl with a thick splat. I contemplated whether to mix the spag bowl for Nick before he came home, but decided against it. I figured he would think I didn’t need him and ignore me for weeks. I’d be left alone with the kids for God knows how long, just like last time. Luckily, that was only four days, and he didn’t cut off his bank account like the time before. The slightest move I made was carefully measured by Nick, and if I showed too much independence, he’d be gone.

“Dinner,” I called to my children.

My two children appeared in the hallway and placed themselves in seats opposite each other. I gave them a small smile.

I put their food in front of them, then Nick’s at his empty spot, then mine, which had been routine for months now. When Nick showed up, of course.

We ate in silence for a while, which was unusual. Normally, Lily would be telling us all about what she did at school, and Noah would be questioning everything, due to her habit of overexaggerating. I always told her she got it from her father. He never liked when I said that, even if I was joking.

“Is Father going to be here tonight?” Noah asked cautiously. He knew this was dangerous territory to be on.

“He should.” I twisted the spaghetti with my fork and lifted it to my mouth emotionlessly.

“But he’s at the club, wasting Mother’s hard-earnt money and hooking up with random women,” Lily snapped bitterly.

I froze, fork paused just before it would have hit my lips. I shot her an incredulous look.

“Daddy is not cheating on me, alright?” I tried to reassure them, but my voice shook.

“Why does he leave in a suit and tie all the time? He’s an accountant, not a butler.” Noah bit into his meat violently, tearing it off the metal utensil.

His face was hard, fury bright in eyes that were almost identical to mine. Lily had suddenly found the floor quite interesting.

Smart girl.

I glared back at my son, and just as I opened my mouth to protest, the door banged open. I sighed inwardly and hurried over to greet him.

He smelled undisguisably of alcohol. I blinked back my tears as I led him to the dining room. He dropped into his chair, leaning back, eying us all suspiciously, as though we were the ones keeping secrets.

In a way, we were.

“Spaghetti Bolognese?” Nick stared at the food like it was gum on the bottom of his shoe. “I want nachos.”

A thin smile spread across my lips. “We don’t have the money to get those supplies. You spend most of it at night.”

I knew the kids shouldn’t have needed to hear this conversation. But it was a life lesson to not get tangled in such a mess as the one I’m in.

Nick scowled, practically inhaling his dinner. Lily was poking her food with her fork tentatively, face strained. She finally lifted her gaze.

“Father, where were you tonight?” she asked, meeting his unfocused eyes without hesitation.

I choked as I swallowed. Nick stood, chair skidding backward, and struck our daughter. Right across the face. Her cheek was a bright red in seconds.

“Where I am and what I do are none of your concern,” he replied calmly, retrieving his chair and reseating himself.

Tears welled in our daughter’s eyes as she bit back a cry. Noah’s lip was trembling, but he knew better than to argue while Nick was in such a state.

I stood quietly, humming to myself to keep from breaking down. One look from Nick silenced me, and I continued gathering their bowls.

I tilted my head in Lily’s direction, voice surprisingly steady. “You may be excused.”

“She may be excused when I excuse her!” Nick bellowed, drunk rage blazing in his dark eyes.

Lily ran to her room anyway, slamming the door behind her. Nick wobbled after her, but knowing Lily, the door would already be locked, and she’d have music blasting in her ears.

Noah’s hand was trembling as he raised more food to his mouth. He was staring into the distance, probably imagining a happy home life, unlike this one.

“Nick,” I murmured, holding his arm to comfort him. “We have to clean up.”

He tore his arm from my grip, which sent me tumbling to the floor. I felt a prick of pain as my elbow connected with the wooden floorboards, but other than that, I was not injured. That was incredibly lucky.

“Mama!” Noah cried, rushing to my side.

I smiled softly. “Go to your room, honey. I’ll be ok.”

Reluctantly, he backed away into the hallway until he was no longer visible. Nick stood, still as a statue, at Lily’s door. His back was turned, and I couldn’t read what he was feeling. Whether a rush of soberness hit him, or whether his drunkenness was taking him to new levels, I did not want to find out.

Then, he started toward me, face blank. No, not me, the table. He picked up his bowl, and before I even knew what was happening, pegged it at my head.

I yelped and tried to wiggle out of the way. The porcelain shattered next to me, a narrow miss. Nick wasn’t finished. He pushed me into the fragments and held me there. Pain seared up my cheek, arms, and chest. I cried out and he let me go, storming to our bedroom. The door slammed shut behind him.

Tears dripping gently down my cheeks, I sobbed quietly as I cleaned up the broken pieces. The remnants of our love were in photographs stuck on the mirror in the dining room and littered across the walls.

I cried harder as my eyes raked across each picture, as though they were tearing already broken parts from my soul. I stopped on one picture, because I remembered exactly where and how it happened.

Lily as an eight-year-old, a gap-toothed grin bringing out the brightness of her teeth and personality. Noah, a six-year-old, frowning because he was mad at us, but trying not to smile as birds chirped from the trees, singing a funny little song. Then there was Nick and I. He was behind me, arms wrapped around my waist. His smile was dazzling, and I remembered the electric chills I’d gotten from being so close. My eyes were bright and there wasn’t a hint of a tight, forced smile or a dark, shady look.

We were happy.

Then Nick lost his job and fell down the rabbit hole of debt. He started drinking and our lives turned upside down. To this day, I couldn’t ever divorce him, because deep down, I still loved him, and I knew he was buried in there. Somewhere deep, deep down.

I won’t give up on him. I won’t give up on our children. I won’t give up on myself. And most importantly, I won’t give up on this family.