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“Okay, sweetie, I’m gonna tell you something.” I took in a deep breath while placing the shot glass back on the coffee table. “And it’s something I’ve wrestled with. Something I’ve doubted whether I should burden you with the truth of. And ultimately something I feel you deserve to know.” I tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “If you weren’t such an adult, so shrewd, worldly and thoughtful, I could maybe get away with some half-truths. But you, my darling, are not someone to be satisfied with those. So I’m going to give it to you. The gruesome truth. Are you ready?”
Violet stared at me, really exploring my face, gauging my expression and the severity I guessed was painted on it.
She took a deep, visible breath. Bracing herself. “I’m ready.”
“You’re going to have a lot of questions,” I sighed. “And this is not something that I will be able to give you in one sitting or be able to explain away. It’s taken me months to even digest this myself, and I suspect it’ll take a lot longer to accept and fully process everything. I hate that it will do the same to you.”
Tears prickled the backs of my eyes, but I fought them. With what I had to tell my daughter, I couldn’t be a weak, sobbing mess. My only saving grace was that I was stronger now. A different person. One I felt comfortable with my daughter looking up to.
“You know I met your father when I was young,” I began. “Younger than you.”
She nodded, very aware that her mother had been a teenager when she gave birth to her. When I was her age, I was married. I was about to move into my first home with my husband. I had an almost three-year-old.
“And you know that I had a… difficult upbringing,” I swallowed thickly.
Violet nodded again. She did not and would never know the specifics of what my childhood was like. I was giving her enough harsh truths tonight.
“I didn’t know much love or kindness,” I explained. “So when I met your father, your grandparents, they were the only true family I’d ever had. And I didn’t have anything or anyone else but you and them.” I reached over to squeeze her hand. “And you, baby, were and still are my entire world. All I’ve ever wanted was to give you the life I never had.”
I sucked in a deep breath.
“So when your father hit me for the first time, when it became clear that if I left him, I wouldn’t have anything… that I wouldn’t have you, I stayed. I stayed because I was young, I was your age. Because I didn’t know what else to do. Didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
There they were. The words, the knowledge. It was out there. I couldn’t take it back.
I watched my daughter’s face contort with shock and pain as my words sank in.
“Daddy… hit you?” she choked out.
It felt like someone was squeezing my lungs when I heard the pain in her voice. “He did, honey,” I managed to reply evenly.
“And it wasn’t just once.” My throat burned as I took a deep breath, hating that I wasn’t done, hating that there was more. “And it wasn’t every day either. He wasn’t constantly cruel or evil. He was loving, kind and caring a lot of the time. He was the daddy you knew for a good portion of our marriage. Until he wasn’t.”
I wished for another tequila shot. I wished for Swiss’s hand in mine. Instead, I focused on the soft clang of dishes in the kitchen, signifying his presence. Signifying that that life, that version of me, and most importantly, Preston, was in my past.
“When you left, something… changed inside of me,” I explained. “I started driving, and didn’t stop until I got here.” I smiled. “You said it yourself, there’s something about this place that pulled me here. Urged me to stay.” I looked over to Swiss in the kitchen, catching his eyes. He was watching me carefully, with concern.
Violet’s gaze flickered that way, too, looking between the two of us.
I rubbed my sweaty palms down my legs, preparing to tell the truth that I wasn’t sure I was going to utter until that very moment. “Your father found me here, darling, because he is a powerful man with a lot of resources. He found me here and he…”
My voice broke, whatever semblance of strength I was holding on to crumbling.
I squeezed my eyes shut, opening them when I felt a small hand squeeze mine. Violet was holding my hand, tears filling her eyes.
“You didn’t have bronchitis,” she guessed slowly.
I shook my head.
“Daddy did that t-to y-you?” she stuttered. I watched her conjure up images in her mind. My daughter had a wonderful imagination, so she was likely trying to match the way I sounded to a violence that she’d never seen first-hand. A violence that had never touched her life… until now.
I nodded. “He did. And it was Swiss who… saved my life.” I decided not to tell her that Swiss had found me naked and half dead in a ditch on the side of the road.
She didn’t need that horrific of a truth.
But it was important to me that she understood Swiss’s part in this. That Swiss, despite appearances, was not the violent man who could hurt me. He was the kind, gentle and loving—and yes, kind of violent—man that saved me. In many ways.
Her eyes slid to Swiss, and they stayed there for a long time before making it back to me. I guessed she was deciding who to address, what questions to ask.
