Flash Fiction: Going Home

I remember that my mother cried the night we announced our engagement. And though she was there at our wedding, she never made a secret about the fact that she did not approve of Raymond. My dad agreed with her. He stood with me at the back of the church, ready to walk me down the aisle and offered me a getaway car. I was young, stupid, and stubborn, though, and so I didn't listen to them.

As it turned out, my parents were right. The man I married wasn't what I thought he was. I had met him at church and he seemed so devout, so ethical and sincere. It took a while for me to realize that he was a truly gifted liar. The façade that he presented to the world hid the angry and violent man underneath.

He didn't start hitting me until after our first anniversary. It took me more than five years after that, to finally find the courage to leave him.

I hadn't been back to my hometown since before the wedding. I had avoided most contact with my parents. I was ashamed and also a little scared. My parents were Catholic and I assumed they would take the you-made-your-bed-until-death position.

I drove the four hours to the house I grew up in, pulled my car up in the driveway and just sat there for a moment. I had all my important belongings in that car. If my parents would not let me stay with them, I didn't know where I was going to go.

I picked up my cell phone and dialed Mom's number. When she answered, I blurted out, "I left him, Mom." Without even a second's hesitation, my mother said the two words I so needed to hear.

"Come home."

296 words - Daily Prompt Winner 4/9/18
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