He hit me every day over the tiniest things. burnt toast, a late reply, a wrong look, You made me do this, he did hiss, One night, panic swallowed me whole and I collapsed, At the hospital, he said to them, She slipped in the shower
He hurt me over things so trivial they barely seemed real at first—burnt toast, a text he thought I answered too slowly, a look he decided was disrespectful. There was always a reason, always an explanation, always a way to make it seem like I had caused whatever came next. “You made me do this,”…