I was a playlist on repeat.

“How could he do this to me?” I wailed to my dad as he made sure I was restrained by the seatbelt before racing off to the airport to escort me to the ruins of my once-placid life.

“How could he do this to me?” I cried to my mom, recalling how she always stated she found comfort in knowing that my husband looked after me.

“How could you do this me?” I whimpered on my husband’s voicemail as he continued to avoid my calls. I screamed it into the phone hours later.

“How could you do this me?” I carved into my journal imagining I was carving into his flesh instead.

“How could you do this to me?” I keened silently from the cold courtroom chair as I scanned his face for any sign of the man I had loved.

It seemed like the…