“I didn’t mean to kill him,” I proclaimed. I swear, this was not the outcome I had intended.

I still remember the pain of his outbursts, I tried to take the brunt of it, to spare the little ones any more horror. They saw me put on a brave face, a smile to lie to the world. Long sleeves, slacks, make up, I was a actor who played her role to perfection. After school classes were a godsend, they kept our kids our of the house. And when they returned, it was homework, dinner, off to bed.

It didn’t start bad. My god, that sounds like the plot to a Hallmark movie, right? But it was true. It was a wonderful romance at first. Then the old cliches, he lost his job, I was the breadwinner. He stayed home with the kids, and got lost on the internet. Crazy websites, changing his world view. Alcohol? No, that was my escape. I’m not ashamed of that. I needed it.

I came home one night, exhausted after a long day of whiney clients. No dinner was prepared, and I admit, I was a cranky bitch about it. But of course that didn’t warrant the punch. That gleam in his eye, he enjoyed it. I would have hit back, but I feared. For my life, for the kids, hell, even for the goldfish. He never lay a hand on the kids, thankfully.

It went on for far too long, Yes, I should have gone to the authorities. But I feared. I feared no one would believe me. I feared ridicule, I knew shame. I hid money when I could, I built a Bug-Out-bag for myself and the kids,and hid it in the old tree in the yard. He found the bag. I wore a spiffy scarf to work that week, playing I was trying a new fashion.

Then, one night, when I was granted some free time (the kids were off to camp that summer) I remember looking at old photographs, and thinking, “Enough.”

I crept to the closet, to the gun safe, and took the rifle. He was on the computer, reading his favorite sites. I stood, waiting, I knew his routine well. He threw his chair away. Good, he read something that angered him. His heavy footsteps carried him to me.

I shot once: in his leg. Twice: his shoulder. A third time, his arm. He fell down the stairs, breaking his neck. The doctors tell me his death was instantaneous.

I didn’t mean to kill him, I swear. I meant for him to suffer first.