I don’t even remember what that particular incident was about; it happened too many times in my year as their nanny. I was used to always turning the other cheek. That’s how I had got by in life for twenty-one years. That’s what I was taught.
I was turning the other cheek so often I was getting whiplash.
This was the woman who taught me that I had to stand up for myself. It was not a kind lesson. It was my own realization that, by constantly turning the other cheek and meekly doing anything anyone asked of me, I was putting myself at risk from those people who would take advantage of my good nature.
So the trim on the garage and the bumper on the car had a… disagreement. I paid for the bumper to get fixed. The dad fixed the garage trim without so much as a dirty look. In fact, he held back his wife from flying at me in yet another harangue.
He understood how she was.
That crashing sound of wood fighting metal was not the defining moment that finally gave me a backbone. It was just the moment I decided that perhaps I should grow one.
This was written for the Write on Edge prompt of flash fiction inspired by the picture-word “Crash.”
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