Unsubscribe here

The cursor hesitates uncertainly as it hovers over the "unsubscribe here" link.

This email appears similar to countless others with an unsubscribe option. However, for her, it signifies more than just ending a subscription. It symbolizes the beginning of something new, with no intention of turning back. Her gaze shifts to the sender.

It's an email without a reply option, filled with a mix of numbers and letters.

Her palm moistens the surface of the white mouse, her nerves tingling with anticipation. Her mouth is as dry as sandpaper, her throat parched. When was the last time she ate? When was the last time she drank? The screen taunts her with a sudden pop-up: "Are you still there?" ,

She chuckles, reminded of the countless occasions she'd drifted off on the sofa in front of the TV, with an empty wine bottle in hand, waiting for him to doze off in their bed upstairs.

She hesitates but decides to click “Yes” and brings her attention reluctantly back to the accursed blue link. She despises the color blue, which happens to be his favorite. She refuses to click on anything adorned in his favorite color.

But amidst her hesitation emerges a glimmer of hope. This could be it! It could be her last chance of freedom. It could mean she could finally be herself again.

With one single click.

Her hand is now cramping over that computer mouse. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her trembling body, ready to take the leap.

But wait…what if it doesn't work? The doubts linger, as they always do, like shadows in the periphery. What if it all fails, rendering all her hope and courage futile?

What if he finds out? What if they don't come in time? She is wary of the uncertainty and the promise of emotional safety.

She bites her lip. She comes to grasp the significance of the past years, feeling the weight of the struggles she now bears.

The paranoia, the self-doubt, the feelings of worthlessness, his clamor, and her silence.

She has perpetually remained silent, constrained. Now is the moment to vocalize, to take action, to demonstrate her worth—not for anyone else, but for herself. She can manage without him, navigate life's challenges independently. She no longer needs to feel diminished, yelled at, or burdened with guilt for his temper.

She checks her watch. How much time did she waste? The link will be invalid after 60 seconds. They afford her just one minute to choose: to depart from this living hell or to stay. Her bags are prepared and stowed away at the back of the closet, containing only the essentials. Once she presses that button, she'll have another 60 seconds to collect everything and leave the house. A car will arrive promptly to transport her to a secure location, where everything will be handled from there.

She inhales deeply, attempting to center himself. The sound of birds chirping their melody outside and the laughter of children returning from school fill her heart with their carefree joy. Suddenly, she catches a whiff of his cologne. Wait! Why is she smelling his cologne?

Her thoughts spiral, questioning the severity of the situation. It's not that awful, is it? If she backs out now, everything will be fine. Right? It's just an ordinary day. She should dismiss these thoughts and make herself available for... for what? For him? For more mistreatment? Despite their lengthy relationship she can still strive to be a better partner, a future wife, a companion. She can cease being burdensome and draining. She can improve, and he'll change. Right? It's not like he ever hit her. So, it's really not that bad!

But... what about the other days? The less-than-good days? The days when she felt numb

and insignificant? The days when she felt frightened and embarrassed?

When she sat there in silent tears, not uttering a word as he kicked or hurled objects around. The instances when he left her, caring only for himself, with no regard for her feelings. What about these moments?

She anxiously glances at her watch once more. Ten seconds remaining.

Ten...nine...eight... The scent of his cologne grows stronger. It can't be. He's at work.

Seven...six...five...four...three...two... She squeezes her eyes shut and clicks on the link!

Then she hears the click of the lock and the door opens.