A Broken Home

Our home looks beautiful and happy from the outside, but what lies within is a terrible and sad sight. Some of my friends at work say I have the perfect family and call my home a kingdom. Well, if they want it, they can have it. I don't think I can live with all this violence, and I hate seeing my children hit by their father. Many of the people I have told, about my abusive husband, Dusty, have commiserated and said that they felt my pain. But maybe they should come and stay here for a week and see just how much pain there really is.

"Grace can you please get me some dinner? I'm starving in here!" Dusty's shouting rudely interrupted a great daydream I was having about taking a vacation on a warm tropical island, alone, of course. Right when my dream was starting to make me feel good I was pulled back into the gloomy reality of my life. Nothing could have made me more angry. But I couldn't show it, at least not while Dusty was around.

"Yes sir," I mumbled as I made myself get out of the soft, comfortable recliner in our living room. I stood there for a minute, a part of me longing to sit down again on the chair and get back to my daydream, and the other half of me telling myself to get my behind in the kitchen and kiss my master's feet before the fists started flying.

"Grace, you earless twit, didn't you hear what I just said? Or do I have to go in there and pound it into your thick skull? Come in here and fix me some dinner before I go in there and fix your face!" Dusty's voice had that certain tone I recognized all to well, the tone that he had right before he started beating on me. That's when I looked up and realized he was standing in the doorway with a look of rage on his face. At this moment, I swear to God, all hell broke loose.

"Why do you always make me do this to you Gracie? You drive me to this, you're the reason I hit you and your obnoxious little offsprings. When are you going to realize that if you just listen to me your life would be a whole lot easier."

"Stop hitting me Dusty! Please!"

"If I don't do this, you'll never learn!"

The pain was agonizing. He hit me in the back, kicked my legs, punched my chest and arms and pulled me by the hair into the kitchen. Then he started cursing and throwing food at me and told me to start cooking. Claude, my oldest child, came downstairs with his sister, Jenine, to see what all the commotion was about. As soon as Dusty saw Claude he started beating on him. His screams were echoing in my ears. Before I knew it, I was fumbling around in the kitchen drawers looking for something. "Ah, this will do," I thought, grabbing a carving knife off the counter. When I turned around I saw Dusty had started pounding on Jenine. I felt my anger seething inside me, bubbling over. I'd never felt this way before. Then I exploded and stabbed Dusty again and again like he was a wild animal. Claude finally grabbed me and threw me to the floor. I looked at what I'd done and I felt an odd sense of relief.

"Boy, have I made a mess," I said with a cool calm voice, almost as though I hadn't realized what I'd done. But I had. I knew I'd just gotten rid of my family's biggest fear. And that made me feel good! Even though the cops were going to arrest me for what I'd done, I knew there would be enough evidence to prove that all I was doing was defending us. We would be able to show them the bruises on our bodies and testify that he had always beaten us. But all that matters now is that we're happy.

By Charlotte Alstrom