Guest Vignette by an anonymous sister of Janay Rice
The ache of a dying relationship is comparable to childbirth. It tears your insides apart; makes you throw up the sedatives you had been taking to cope with the unbearable pain. At some point in the process, you start to admit that there’s no turning back and that this has to come to an end somehow. For your survival. And sometimes, that moment comes only after your air supply has been cut off by the person who once had infinite love for you. In the home you built together. On the couch you shared bodily fluids. You look into his crazed eyes with the realization that he could kill more than your spirit. And you’re left with a choice that no one will ever understand. Either because you left and he was "too good of a man" to deserve that, or because you stayed knowing he was a violent bastard. There are nuances to this birthing process. If you push too soon, you will most certainly tear. If you don’t push, the pain will endure relentlessly. But you will always love everything that led up to this moment.
Because. He’s your baby.
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