I expected when you said you would be my best friend, you meant it.
I expected when you said you loved me, you knew what that meant.
I expected when we said 'I do', it would be forever.
I expected when you said you understood trouble, you would never be my worst.
I expected the first time your fist struck my body, it would be the last.
I expected to be able to understand abuse.
I expected when you said you would change, you would. I expected when I left you (or you kicked me out) the first, second, fifth, twelfth time, it would be my last.
I expected when you tried to kill me, to die.
I expected when I checked the box at the Doctor's office, "Yes, someone in my home is hurting me", someone would help.
I expected to be mentally able to handle anything.
I expected when I moved halfway across the country to escape you, you would leave me alone.
I expected all these years later, you wouldn't find a way to hurt me or those I love.
I expected the past to be left behind forever.
My cat you abused never recovered. Her mouth became a living cancer; an ongoing testimony of your cruelty and neglect.
I expected her to live a long, full life once out of your reach.
I expected my nephew/niece would never have to bury their best friend and guardian after only four short years together.
I expected you to respect and cherish life.