A House of Cards on My Silence
Each concession was small.
Each was defensible.
Each was, in isolation, the choice a loving partner might make.
And that is exactly how it works, how a person is slowly erased: not through any single unbearable demand that she might have refused, but through an endless series of small, reasonable, individually-bearable ones, each of which lowers the floor a little further, until one day she is living in a basement she cannot remember descending into.
I never chose to disappear.