What Lies Between Us

Warning: This story contains references to domestic abuse (physical, sexual, and financial).

John was a good father. The kids loved him. They went to the park together, played catch together, and even played video games together. Each time he accidentally bumped Olivia into a corner, knocked her out of bed, or harangued her for sex until she finally gave in only to leave her bleeding and in tears while he whistled in the shower, she reminded herself that leaving would take a loving father from her children. She could not make her children suffer for her. She could endure in order to give them the best chance at life.

It was Thanksgiving morning, and her brother, Mark, had come to town to join her family to celebrate the holiday. The siblings worked in the kitchen together the day before to prepare for the full meal. They laughed and chatted and cooked cornbread, peeled potatoes, and prepared casseroles, which they stored in the refrigerate to cook the following day.

Mark had remarked on her eldest son’s pants. He had gone through a growth spurt recently, and all his pants were two inches too short. She assured him she had tucked away some money to buy him a few new pairs of pants and a couple of toys for him and his little brother for Christmas.

“As much as I hate Black Friday crowds, it’s the best time to find good deals and maximize what I’ve got. Wanna go with me?” she said.

Mark smiled fondly at his sister and readily agreed. They ended the night with smiles, sliding the turkey into the oven at a low temperature to cook overnight. They would have a wonderful meal, and on Friday they would brave the shopping crowds together.

As their mother used to say, Olivia could pinch a penny until Abe Lincoln screamed. If anyone could get clothing and Christmas gifts on a budget, it was Olivia, and they had a very strict budget. Years ago, she had noticed a trend during the last quarter of the year. John would quit his job, get laid off, or even get fired just before Christmas.

Every year.

This year had not escaped. Olivia had to keep the household running by herself. Bills were paid first, and only then did she tuck away money to pay for Christmas, too. In January, John would go back to work again. In the meantime, Olivia reduced bills where she could, clipped coupons, and even cleaned houses on her days off to ensure they could pay their bills and still have a little Christmas.

The first hint that giving thanks would be the furthest thing from her mind was a freshly opened game figurine package on John’s painting table. Though the figures might not be expensive to most people, Olivia had learned to resent every single one he purchased. The package on the desk was equivalent to half of the electric bill.

He and his brother went window shopping at the mall last night. However, he didn’t have any money. His last paycheck had been three weeks earlier. He burned through it within two days. Perhaps his brother had bought it as a Christmas present for John. She hoped so.

The second hint was the whiff of marijuana she caught when she walked past the table. It overpowered the scent of roasted turkey. Marijuana use was still illegal in their state. If the police found it in their home, she could lose the children. She walked to the desk to look for it and spied the corner of a sandwich bag spilling from the top of a basket on the painting table. She leaned forward and gasped at the sight of a full bag. He could never afford that much. It was always just enough to cover the bottom of the bag. Where had he gotten the money?

Icy dread settled into her stomach. She stumbled to the bedside table and picked up her smartphone with trembling hands. The banking app opened with her thumbprint. A short, sharp cry escaped before she clamped her lips shut. The money she had painstakingly saved and scraped together to be sure their children had something from Santa under the tree was gone. Only change remained. He found the money. She checked inside the phone case and confirmed her debit card remained tucked away. John must have gone to the bank and withdrawn the money directly.

“Stupid!” she whispered to herself. She should have opened a separate account without his name on it. Except that she went to work before the banks opened and left after they closed. If she took time off during the day to go to the bank, her check would be short, and he would notice. She had taken a risk, and she lost. They lost. Only John won.

Her throat constricted. She fought the urge to scream. There would be no Black Friday shopping. With only three weeks left to make up the loss, she would be lucky if she could get gifts for the children from the thrift store. Tears pricked her eyes. The toddler wouldn’t care that his toy had been owned by someone else, but the eight-year-old would know that Santa didn’t leave him anything new. This year, he would learn the magic of Christmas was just a lie because she could not afford to allow him to believe he was less than other children when his gifts weren’t as good.

John was a good father.

So good, he chose to get high over providing his son with pants that fit.

So good, he chose his hobby over his children’s belief in Santa.

His laugh rang out from the living room. Carefully setting the phone on the bedside table to avoid breaking it, she stood. Hands clenched into tight fists at her sides, she took deep, shuddering breaths to calm her heart. As her heart rate slowed, she unfurled her fists. Christmas was going to be meager for her babies this year. She would not take their father from them for Christmas as well. But when the new year came?

“New year, new me,” she said. She swiped the tears trying to escape the corners of her eyes, squared her shoulders, and walked sedately out of the bedroom to resume cooking Thanksgiving dinner as though nothing had changed.