Collin came home a few days later, looking a whole lot calmer than when he left. He didn't say anything to me, but went straight to the bedroom, packed a suitcase and walked back toward the front door. When I asked him where he was going, he just turned and pointed a warning finger at me. Our eyes locked and I knew not to ask any more questions, to just let him go.

It was a few weeks before he came home again. I figured he was probably staying at his side chick's house, or maybe he hadn't gotten rid of my old apartment like he'd said, and was staying there. Or maybe my old apartment was his side chick's new place. Whatever. It didn't matter. I was just glad to have him out of the house. But I was also on pins and needles knowing that he could come back at any time. Knowing that I better have at least one door without the deadbolt on so that he could get back in, made me feel even more like he might pop out of one of the rooms at any given moment.

My being on pins and needles all day every day made the baby a nervous wreck, too, and she cried all the time. She never slept, which meant that I never slept, and we were both miserable the whole time he was away.

I was actually kind of glad when Collin finally came home, because at least I had him where I could see him. Collin started going to his therapist after that, too, but by then we were both so bat shit crazy, and were driving each other so crazy, that it didn't really help a whole lot.

I really wanted to kill myself, to be honest. But I didn't want to leave the baby alone with him. One day, after he almost slapped her when she wouldn't stop crying, I decided that if I couldn't kill myself, I would have to kill him.

I was serious about that, too. He caught me a few days later singing to the baby and pouring Drano into the chili that I was making him for dinner. He ran up behind me and slapped me in the back of the head. Then he turned me around to face him and slapped the side of my head. He didn't say anything. He just kept hitting me. It was like I was in a trance. I didn't even feel anything. I didn't hear the baby crying, I didn't see him pick the Drano up off of the stove. When he shoved me onto the ground with one hand, and straddled me, I didn't even notice.

When he started pouring the Drano onto my face and growled, "You like it? Do you like this shit? Drink it. Drink it!" I just opened my mouth and let it pour in. I tried to swallow as much of it as I could, and realized for the first time that I genuinely wanted to die.

I guess Collin realized that I was ready to die, too, because he suddenly stopped pouring and got up off of me.

He picked up the baby for a brief moment and rubbed her back gently, whispering "Ssh...mommy and daddy are just talking." When she finally stopped crying, he put her back into the high chair, grabbed a dirty spoon out of the kitchen sink and turned me over onto my stomach. Then he bent me over his arm and shoved the spoon all the way down my throat. He did this three times until I finally stopped throwing up and only dry heaves came out.

Then he pointed to the chunky blue puddle on the ground and very calmly said, "Clean that up. Crazy bitch," and stepped over me. A few minutes later, I heard him walk out of the front door, walk back in, and then walk out again.

It was almost a full two months before he came home this time.