My grandfather was a guy who...my father was a guy who; and my dear husband too, became a guy who. You may be asking yourself, a guy who what? Every man I’ve ever had in my life, were guys who laid their hands on women. Every man I’ve ever had in my life, were what I would consider cowards. My day as the wife of a coward, usually began with his hulking hand on the side of my face. I used to ask why, but after many times of receiving identical answers, I stopped. I never struck him back. Instead I cupped the side of my cheek in the palm of my hand and with great hesitation, I would wander into the darkness and isolation of our bedroom. Shutting the door behind me I would hide, I would cry, I would stay. When I asked myself why I knew it was because I had loved HIM, or who he once was. Loving him was disabling and yet I always made my way back into his arms. I had always found it ironic that I went to his arms for security and at other times, ran from in fear. I hoped that one day my dear husband would just like to protect me and guide me, but no. His time was spent bruising me, beating me, making me bleed, dragging me by my hair and making me scream. Soon enough I began to hate him, but he already knew this. One night I finally got the nerve to pack my bags and prepared myself to escape, but of course my dear husband was two steps ahead. I knew he would make an attempt to stop me, simply assuming he may just beat again or break a few more bones. Silly me. I should’ve known he wouldn’t be so kind. The night I finally gained courage I lost my life. My dear husband’s inconsolable eyes were the last thing I saw, and my dear husband’s voice was the last thing I heard. As the light vanished into inky darkness I finally knew, my dear husband would forever be a coward because he was a guy who laid his hand on a woman.