short story, anyone?

                She smiled and handed him their newborn daughter. ‘Look at her,’ he cooed. ‘So beautiful, like her mother.’ The baby looked up at her father and gurgled. She has a pair of big brown eyes, framed by thick, long and dark lashes any girl would kill for. She then squirmed slightly, eyes shifting to her mother who is a few feet away, and made to reach out towards her with her tiny fists. The father handed the baby over to his wife, smiling slightly as he did. He brushed his fingers gently across her cheeks, looked deeply into her eyes and said, ‘Thank you.’

`DING DONG! DING DONG! DING DONG!’

                She woke with a start. The doorbell kept ringing. As she fumbled in the dark, feeling the wall for the light switch, she tripped over a rug and fell hard on her back. It was excruciating, she saw stars for a few seconds. `DING DONG! DING DONG! DING DONG!’ Argh, why must he keep ringing the doorbell?! She muffled her sobs by clamping her hand to her mouth and hauled herself off the floor. Must get to the door before John wakes up. The pain was getting worse, she could feel her legs shaking, threatening to give way. Somehow, she managed to leave her room and tottered towards the front door. The moment the door was unlocked, he stumbled in, red-eyed and drunk, as always. He smelled of sweat, mixed with smoke and liquor, the stench so overpowering that her eyes stung. His thick and curly black hair, always worn longish, was matted to his head. His office attire, crisp and clean in the morning, now looked as though they haven’t been laundered for weeks.

                She was not surprised, or even angry. She has been facing the same scenario for the past two months, ever since the economy went down south and they lost most of their money in investments, all which failed badly. They had to sell off many assets to help them get back on their feet. They now live in an old rented house, which may crumble at any moment. Leaky roof, creaky stairs, peeling paint, broken hinges and window frames... He managed to hold onto his job, which does not pay much, but he has never been the same man she was married to, 5 years ago. She forced herself to believe that these are temporary; the house, the crisis, him. She found out that she was six weeks pregnant with her second child, and she was over the moon about it. She hoped to surprise him with this news and maybe, just maybe, he will realize he has more responsibilities and he will change for the better. Maybe the blissful dream she just had may come true.

                He slapped her across the face, shouting, ‘WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG TO ANSWER THE DOOR? ARE YOU DEAF, WOMAN?!’ He then just wobbled into his room and slammed the door shut. But she, she did not hear a word he shouted. The force of his slap made her stagger sideways until she lost her balance, hitting her head on the side of a table and finally falling on her back, again. This time, the pain was too much. It shot up her spine, like an inferno, all the way to the back of her head. She shut her eyes in pain and screamed out in agony. She cried haltingly and her whole body shook. She seemed to be paralyzed; every single move was too much pain to bear. The pain from the fall was so intense that she did not notice the cramping in her lower abdomen. Only after a few minutes of inexplicable pain did she realize that her legs were warm and wet. And a few moments later, she was sitting in pool of blood. She stared blankly, unable to register the situation. Then she knew... The reality of it hit her so hard that she could not catch her breath between the uncontrolled sobs. At that moment, she couldn’t feel any pain.

All she could think of was the baby that she wanted so much, because she believed that only the baby can fix the family.                                                                                                                                                                   She had even made a list of potential baby names, both boy and girl. How could he do this to me?! Our baby! My baby! She called out to him, pleading, begging him to come help her, but to no avail. She cried silently, thinking, my baby, my baby, my baby…

                She woke with a severe pounding in her head. Her vision was blurred, she was disoriented. Slowly, a few things became aware to her. She was lying on the floor, her nightgown caked with blood, dried tears and snot covered her face, forming a mask-like layer and her whole body was screaming with fatigue. She glanced at the wall clock. 4.00 a.m. Slowly, she got on her knees, then, holding on to a chair, tried to stand up. The pain was much milder, though she would need to pop a couple of pain pills later. She bathed and scrubbed the floors clean, while trying hard to ignore what it was supposed to be, instead of a puddle of black, dried blood. Tears welled in her eyes but she kept them at bay. It is not a time to cry. Not now.

As soon as she finished cleaning, she went into John’s room and sat on his bedside. The moment she saw him sleeping peacefully, so vulnerable, so beautiful, all that happened previous night suddenly seemed insignificant. The only reason she bears her husband’s fits of delirium was John. She doesn’t want him to grow up fatherless, like her. It is too painful. At the age of 3, John is a pretty brilliant kid. He knows how to cheer his mother up and how to make her proud of him. He is a fast learner; he can already distinguish between colors, he is the apple of her eye. There is nothing she wouldn’t do for her little angel. However, it had been weeks since John laughed or even flashed his pearly whites. The beatings have gotten worse, and John had caught her crying more than once. She just sat there, and let her mind work.

She glanced at the wall clock again. 5.00 a.m. It’s now or never. Do it for John. She rummaged inside John’s cupboard until she found a hand-carry Crocodile luggage, one of the few which are not too damaged or worn. She took almost all of John’s clothes, stuffed them into the bag, and went to collect her own clothes from the laundry room. She found her purse, checked for identification cards, John’s birth certificate, found some petty cash, grabbed what’s left of her jewelries, and tossed it all into the bag. All was set. She double checked everything. Her heart was pounding a million beats per minute. She cannot turn back now. No. He took her baby away from her. No more chances. No more forgiveness.

Silently, she entered her bedroom. There he was, the man she used to love, sleeping contentedly on their bed, with no trace of guilt or remorse whatsoever on his face. This is not my husband. She felt disgusted that she was married to someone as cold-hearted as him. Selfish, alcoholic, irresponsible, abusive. She had to do it. He left her with no choice. She stood quietly for a minute, thinking of her lost baby yet again. But this time she was not crying, instead she was filled with so much fury, she was almost shaking. I’m not sorry. Finally, she exited the room, leaving the door wide open. She noticed that the pungent smell of the gas was already spreading fast. His morning cigar will do me the favor, she thought, with the hint of a smile.

With John in one hand and the luggage in the other, Rita left the house.