Holly Day

he went crazy while I was still
at work. his friends had come over for lunch, saw him
go from reasonably odd to completely insane in
a matter of minutes. our son was sleeping in his crib
otherwise, they would have left, too.
I came in the door after
a long day at work, saw him pacing, pacing
lecturing wildly and waving his arms around his
head like he was trying to scare off
invisible flies.
“he’s all yours now,” his friends said when
they saw me, shaking their heads in sympathy but
not wanting
to get involved. Ten

years later, I’m sitting in court, telling
stories of how things went from bad to worse.
“I don’t remember any of this,” says the husband
I haven’t seen since our son was two years old.
“I’d like to apologize for
anything I did to you back then.” the lawyers smile at me
as if this will make it all better, will excuse the violent fights
the things he stole from me, the nights I slept with my son
curled up in my arms, afraid
of what was coming next.

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