Each and every shift now he would watch her walk in. Their eyes would connect, they would move to a cubicle. Each and every shift he would look at the latest bruises, the latest rib fractures, the latest cuts. He would wipe away the latest tears, patch her up and watch her go.
Each and every shift she would walk in, hoping that he would be there. Hoping that he would help her. Hoping that he wouldn't get too involved. Hoping that he would just patch her up and let her go.
Each and every shift he would try and persuade her to leave him. Try to persuade her that he wouldn't change. Try to persuade her not to go home to him. But all he could do was patch her up and watch her go.
Each and every shift she would listen to his pleas. Speak empty words about him being able to change. Speak empty words about her being strong enough. Speak empty words that she could cope. All she let him do was patch her up and let her go.
Each and every shift he would pray. Pray that she had left him. Pray that she had no new bruises, evidence of the abuse. Pray that she would walk through the doors, not pushed through by paramedics. Pray that she would let him do more than just patch her up and watch her go.
But they both knew that each and every shift would be the same. She would have new bruises. He would plead with her to leave him. She would pretend that everything will be okay. He would give her all the different options he had for her to leave. She would refuse, too scared of the consequences.
Ultimately, each and every shift, it was always the same in the end.
He would patch her up, and watch her go.