Not just for me, but for the dozens of witnesses in that restaurant, for the legal system that would soon become involved. And for the women who would later tell me my story gave them courage. But in that moment, all I knew was that I had finally found my voice. The wine was still dripping down my neck when I made the call that would start my new life.
But first, I had one more thing to say to the man who thought he could break me with a glass of wine and 15 years of control. You know what the funny thing is, Matthew? I’ve already paid for this dinner. I’ve been paying for everything for 15 years. My dignity, my freedom, my sense of self, but not anymore.
Check your joint account tomorrow. I think you’ll find it makes for some interesting reading. The look on his face told me he finally understood. I wasn’t just ending our marriage. I was taking back my life. The police officer’s name was Andrea Taylor, and she had kind eyes that didn’t match her stern expression.
We sat in a quiet corner of the precinct as she reviewed my statement. The wine on my blouse now dried to a dull burgundy stain. Mrs. Harrison. Rebecca. I corrected her. Just Rebecca Porter. I’m going back to my maiden name. She nodded, making a note. Rebecca, you mentioned this isn’t the first incident. My hands tightened around the paper cup of lukewarm coffee they’d given me.
Through the precinct windows, I could see dawn breaking over Boston, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. I hadn’t slept, but I felt more awake than I had in years. The wine throwing that was new, I said. Matthew always preferred less visible methods. Financial control, emotional manipulation, isolation. Did you know I haven’t seen my best friend Clare in 3 years? He convinced me she was jealous of our marriage, trying to sabotage it.
