You might call me a runner.
Not that I ever thought of myself in this way. That didn’t really come out until after we were married.
It was at some point during our first year together when we were living in those hideous pink apartments. He said something that set me off and I found myself instinctively digging in my purse for the car keys. I desperately wanted out of there. Anywhere — far from him.
So when he walked to the back room to catch the evening news, I slipped out.
I knew he wouldn’t like it. It was already getting late and we didn’t live in the safest part of town. But I left anyway. It’s what I do when I’m upset.
It wasn’t so much a decision, as an impulse. I had this overwhelming urge to take off for a long drive into the night.
When I returned home much later, he was waiting up for me. I’d worried a little what his response would be, but needn’t have. He only pulled me in close and held me tight.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but not this.
[Read the rest of the article at The Time-Warp Wife.]