The Gift


Every time he hurt her, he got her a gift: a doll, a miniature Taj Mahal, and so on. Initially, it was a way to reconciliation. However, gradually, it became a routine.

He got used to the fact that he can do anything and get away with it by giving a gift. Those anythings included forced bondage sex and physical assault too. She didn’t give in easily, but that only made it worse.

Everyone blamed her for letting him do those to her; but what would she do when she thinks that she loves the guy who treats her like a slave. Above all, domestic violence isn’t as easy to handle as people with first world problems think it to be. One fine day, she left him. It wasn’t easy; witness protection program would have been easier than that.

Miles away, years later, her showcase was full of those gifts. People called her materialistic for taking those, but she wasn’t attached to those materials. Those were scars that remind her how broken she was, and how she battled through it to be the person she is now.

However, there was one gift that everyone wanted her to get rid off, but she didn’t, not because it was the costliest, but because that was the only gift she was attached to despite that fact that she never wanted that gift in the first place.

“Mom, can I go cycling?” her son asked. He had his eyes, and that was the only similarity.

~Love,
Stri

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