I shut the door and sink into the passenger seat. Breathe in, breathe out. Melt the thick air of the last two hours. The lunch is over. Done for another month.

Usually, I drive off as fast as I can and let the music play loud. I never cry, why bother? Instead, I laugh hysterically at the absurdity of what my family calls family. I grit my teeth, swing by McDonald’s, then take a long shower, numb my mind with Netflix, and call it a day.

Today is different though. Because he’s with me in the car. He’s driving, oddly quiet, probably traumatised. He thought he knew what he was walking into. But no amount of childhood stories could have prepped him enough. I had to throw us to the wolves and wait for his reaction. Is he gonna hold my hand or run for his life?

He still doesn’t speak, doesn’t blink. My instinct is itching to turn on the radio but that would normalise the situation which would freak him out even more.

I guess I should say something. But what? How do you explain twenty plus years of a backstory? Especially when it’s all sort of clouded. Like, you feel the anger but can’t explain why because you blocked out most of the actual moments that made you angry. The reasoning is gone, all you have left is the emotion. That’s just really hard to explain, let alone to someone who's on the phone with his mom every single day and has his dad praising him for every minor achievement. How could he ever understand?

And what about the fact that I don’t wanna dig into the dirt, all over again. I’ve done my work, been to therapy, analysed it from thousands of different angles. No matter how hard I try, I can't change it. I can’t change people who don’t wanna have a conversation, who don’t wanna address the problems, who don’t wanna change. I've made my peace with that. I’ve accepted that things are gonna stay the way they are.

Except they’re not gonna ruin our life too. At the red light, I ask: „Do you wanna talk?“

„Ehm…“ He hesitates, shifting the gear into neutral. „I mean, it is… Is it like this, like… every time?“ There’s the green light. He returns the gear to drive and starts the car.

„Yes.“ I answer. He stays quiet. So I continue: „Is it… Do you think that you can handle that?“ My voice is cracking. I am not going to cry. „Because it’s totally fine if you don’t wanna go through that again. We don’t- You don’t have to. You don’t have to go with me next time.“ He still doesn’t talk. „Or like ever.“ I add.

The traffic rises as we head toward the city centre. He focuses on the road. A bike passes and he doesn’t like bikers. I can sense his hands tensing on the steering wheel.

I look out the window. Three kids are laughing in the back seat of the car right next to us. I wish everything was simple.

„I'm in this with you, babe.“ He says. „I’m just processing it, you know. You've had your whole life to learn the pattern. I’m just… new to this.“

I nod. „Never seen this kind of crazy, huh?“ I ask, my eyes piercing his adorable, slightly heartbroken face.

„No.“ He laughs, in a relieved kind of way. „I mean I’ve heard of worse. But seeing it first hand is, ehm… just wow.“

„Yeah.“ I reply. „Yeah, I know.“

„You're okay?“ He grabs my hand for exactly three seconds, then he lets go. He’s such a careful driver. He knows how to do his taxes and he always gets to the airport as if he was flying internationally. He barely drinks, he doesn’t yell. He never calls me names except for sweetie or honey. He makes me feel safe, the safest I’ve ever been.

„Yeah.“ I say. „I am okay.“