Returning from her early morning run, Bridget quietly opened
the door to the kitchen. He wouldn’t be awake yet; for that she was grateful.
She really wasn’t in the mood to deal with him right now. Finishing off her
bottled water, she collapsed into a chair. Something felt different, though.
They had fought last night. Again. Normally, Bridget’s anger was overwhelming
and she used her runs to clear her head. This time was different. The anger was
gone. She couldn’t even muster up the strength to care enough to be mad at him
anymore. Four years of put-downs, screaming and dismissiveness had taken its
toll. When had the transformation taken
place? She wasn’t quite sure. But at some point Bridget had moved from anger to
apathy.
