Staring down at her in her crib, you smiled lovingly.

You reached in, swiped a stray little blonde curl off her cheek, and leaned down to pick her up. Damn it, she was sound asleep, just leave her alone. You watched me, glowered, as you walked across the room and sat in my rocking chair—the chair I had nursed her in for the last 14 months. Isn't she beautiful, you asked. If you want to keep her that way, you hissed quietly, you'll shut your fucking mouth and go unpack that bag, you said smiling. Then you reached into the side pocket of the rocking chairs cover and pulled out a tiny gun I had never seen before...why was it in the rocking chair?? And you pointed it at her head, still smiling, still rocking. Otherwise I'll shoot her and make you live with the fact it was your fucking fault.This wasn't the first time you'd threatened me, but where did you get that gun? I knew you had several—you slept with one on the bedstand in a hollowed out Edgar Allen Poe book. But this one was new. So was the glint in your eyes.

You weren't like this when we met, when I married you, when I had a child with you. Well, no, I take that back. You weren't THIS, but the signs were there, the red flags flapping in my face only to be ignored because I loved you.

Yes I was packing a bag. Who wouldn't if they were me? After three days on a family vacation, which you brought your "best friend" (read: dealer) along on, I was done. You weren't like this when we met, when I married you, when I had a child with you. Well, no, I take that back. You weren't THIS, but the signs were there, the red flags flapping in my face only to be ignored because I loved you. I really did. And then the accident, which made you into this heartless, drug-addicted monster. I always knew you could be mean, I had seen that enough in the five plus years we had been together. But evil? Vindictive? Vicious? I had no idea. Until now.For three days you were on a drug binge with your buddy, and it wasn't pot, when did you move on to the heroin? The cocaine? Was it after the doctor quit prescribing you pain meds because you thought physical therapy was a joke, or was it before? I can't stand to be around you anymore, so I hold up in her bedroom playing happy mommy, so maybe the switch to the harder drugs is recent? When a car comes down the alley, why do you jump for the Edgar Allen Poe book, peeking behind the curtains? Are you dealing? Do you owe money?  I don't know but this isn't my life. This isn't her life. This is a nightmare. So yes, I'm packing a bag. And you are holding a gun to our daughters head, smiling at me.