Lasagna...with love?

It was always befuddled. Her mind, that is. The red bruises on her arm, the clumped out hair, the scratches, and her daughter nursing her. 

She picked up the beautiful piece of china. But, she wondered, frowning, hadn’t he… broken it? 

The door banged shut, and a voice reverberated around the kitchen, as Mirabelle’s husband came swaggering in. Mirabelle dropped the plate. “Loving your new routine, sweetheart. Staring at a dish in the morning, breaking it in the afternoon, and cleaning it up in the evening.” She sat down, picking up the pieces, the bruises catching her eye again. “I’m- I’m sorry, I’ll clean it up right away.” 

“I’ll get food outside, the one job you have, and you can’t even do it properly.” 

Those were her mornings, usually. 

But where did that scar come from, marring her face from left to right? 

The nights were somewhat more insightful. It was always a blur, really. 

She saw the bottle in his hand, and his friends, all walking in. She saw herself running; running to hide her daughter. She saw a hand coming towards her. Then stopped. The bruises were back the next day. 

She took her daughter to school, and got sympathetic glances from the parents around her. Or at least she used to. Now she’s not allowed to go outside anymore. 

“Mirabelle, honey, I got some food for you,” her husband called.

“I don’t need it, I’ll get some food from outside.” 

Her husband laughed. “As if I’ll let you.” He opened the bedroom door and twisted her daughter’s hand, pulling her towards the front door. Mirabelle realised too late.

“No!” She screamed, an agonizing, painful scream, echoing across the house, “No, please..please..please…” She held on to Mathew’s leg, but he kicked her away. 

Mirabelle slugged against the door. 

It was dark when her husband returned, Mirabelle lay curled up, at the corner of her room. “She’s eaten. We spent a lovely daddy-daughter day together, didn’t we, sweetheart?” His smile glinted in the darkness. 

“Honey!” Miranda screamed, crawling towards her daughter. 

“Mommy!” she screamed, melting into her arms. 

The only place either of them felt safe. 

It wasn’t like this in the beginning, no, in fact, Mathew had been quite different. 

They used to go on these trips together, she remembered. She had pictures too, stuck on her wall. She picked them down, one by one, as the memories came rushing back. But as she looked closer, the smiles all seemed fake, somehow. Manufactured. 

“Mirabelle, honey, I’m home. What’s for lunch today?” 

“Lasagna,” she remembered saying. 

“How delectable.” Mathew rubbed his palms together, excitedly. 

“Dig in, I know it’s your favourite.” 

As we sat down around the table, it all felt normal again. Or, at least, like before. 

My daughter looked…wary, though. “What happened, honey? Don’t worry, I’ll cook some more for you in the evening.” 

Mathew’s fork moved up, and then down, time seemed to slow down. 

“This is absolut-” he couldn’t finish, as he dropped the fork, crouching down in despair. 

“What is it, Matt? What is it?” 

His lifeless body lay before her, as she gasped out in horror. 

There on the kitchen table sat a bottle of arsenic, which she was sure she hadn’t seen before. 

Or had she? 

She felt a tug on her hand, and looked down to see her daughter, pulling her towards the door. 

She didn’t know why, but she understood, and walked out, the sunlight splaying on her face. 

She was…free.