His footsteps echoed loudly through the upstairs of her home. Chills racked her body each time his foot connected with the floor. She could tell by the way he was stomping his feet that he was in a bad mood. For a moment, she considered fleeing to her mother's house until the storm blows over, but embarrassment and shame hold her in her place. What would she say if she showed up on the doorstep this late at night?

Everyone had tried to tell her that getting married young was a bad idea. Her father had warned her that war changes young men and that the man she was so in love with might not be the same man who came home to her. She'd ignored them all, thinking that she knew better than them. She'd believed with all of her heart that their love could overcome anything. It was moments like tonight where she was reminded how dreadfully naïve she'd been.

As she waited, her muscles tensed and her shoulders ached. The fight hadn't even begun and already she felt exhausted. When he'd first come home, full of rage and hatred, she'd tried desperately to figure out what was wrong and fix it, but now she knew it was some imagined offense in his head and no matter what she did, how perfect she was, or how hard she worked, she'd never be able to correct it.

The sound of wood exploding rocked the house, but she sat deathly still as if the chaos upstairs wasn't happening. If she had to guess at the noise, she imagined her precious chest of drawers that was at the end of the hall was now a pile of matchsticks and splinters. Things like this used to set her off. She used to shake with anger when he destroyed her possessions, but now she resigned herself to wait it out and fix it when he wasn't looking.

If any good had come from all of this, it was that she could now perform reparative spells with her eyes closed. She'd certainly had plenty of practice of late. Laughter burst from her mouth and though she knew it was completely inappropriate, she simply couldn't control it. If she didn't laugh, she knew she'd cry and she didn't think she had any tears left to shed. All that was left inside of her was bitterness and resentment.

"What are you laughing at?" his voice roared from behind her. "Do you think this is funny?"

The laughter died on her tongue and her brain started whirling, trying to come up with an excuse. Slowly, she turned to face him. "Not at all, darling. I was only laughing at a joke that Rose told me yesterday."

"Don't lie to me," he growled, ripping a portrait from the wall and smashing it at her feet. "I know you're laughing at me. You like making me mad, don't you?"

She struggled to keep her face neutral and her voice flat. "I'd never laugh at you, love. You know that."

"I'm so tired of your shitty attitude Victoire!" he shouted, slamming the front door open. "Sometimes I don't even know why I married you."

The door banged shut behind him leaving a silence that echoed louder than any of his words ever could. Victoire ran her hands through her hair, tugging at the roots to release some tension. "I'm beginning to wonder too, Teddy," she said to the empty room.


Hi there!

This story was written for LooneyLizzie's Always Keep Fighting Challenge at . The purpose of the challenge was to write about mental disorders. The topic I chose was Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Secondary PTSD. It's something I have personal experience with and feel very strongly about. If it's something you suffer from as well, please know that you aren't alone.

This is also the first thing I've written in 3 ½ months, so I'd love to hear what you thought if you have a moment to leave a comment.

Thank you for reading!

~Kaitlin/TreacleTart