A Domestic Regret

Not once did he ever admit to my abuse

He, the "stand-up" family man

Insecurity, history, equals not an excuse

~

My deepest regret: I didn't cut him loose

At the first inkling of his sinister plan

Not once did he ever admit to my abuse

~

Love bombing me was merely a ruse

Winning over my girls in a minimal span

Insecurity, history, equals not an excuse

~

Birth of our own babes, added gin to his juice

Jealousy, instability; his rampage began

Not once did he ever admit to my abuse

~

Time tuned his trip wire, of this, I deduce

Manipulative tactics- my daily dose of bran

Insecurity, history, equals not an excuse

~

Suicidal threats of an attic hanging noose

Attempting my demise, I took the kids and ran

Not once did he ever admit to my abuse

Insecurity, history, equals not an excuse

~

Author's Note: This Villanelle reflects on a personal encounter with domestic abuse twenty-five years ago.

True to my words, I took four small children and ran, literally for our lives.

Healing has been a mix of heavy thoughts and emotions, including self-blame, regret, and shame.

To this day, my abuser denies all claims made by me and my children. There is no contact, despite all his failed attempts. For my family, healing has meant moving forward, knowing he holds onto his lies.