scratch

**Journal Entry – April 20, 2025**

I never imagined a simple game of tennis could end in tears and fear. Today, Mark and I were playing at the community courts—a ritual he insisted on to “keep things normal.” But normal felt anything but. He trailed by several points, and I saw the tension coil in his jaw. Then came that swing. He swung his racket in frustration and caught me squarely on the temple. The shock stunned me more than the pain. I stumbled, vision blurred, and he only realized what he’d done once I fell to the clay.

He dropped to his knees, eyes wild with guilt, begging me to forgive him. I nodded, but inside I felt outrage I’ve tried so hard to bury. This wasn’t the first time. Over the past two years, Mark’s anger has flared unpredictably—shoving me during arguments, calling me worthless, and breaking things I love. Each time he’s apologized afterward, promising to change. And each time I’ve believed him, clinging to the good moments: his laughter on our first date, the way he tucked my hair behind my ear.

But today, watching blood trickle down my forehead, I felt the truth: I’ve been living in fear. I love him, but I’m terrified of what he might do next. I need to find the strength to protect myself—whether that means setting boundaries, seeking help, or finding a way out. I can’t keep hiding the cracks in my heart.