Ask him to hit you.

Your stomach will drop, either way. You won't know how to do with your mouth. You'll brace for the impact, wondering which pain is coming.

He said he loved you, and it was past tense. Felt good, right? Like you had finally converted him, made him a believer. You were right in the end, and he was saved, and you were alone.

A "no" hurts. But being left to silence hurts more. Plead, "hurt me the best way," on the surface, with a bruise to fuss over. Don't do it by leaving; any asshole can do that (and they do). But you and me, we're special. Fucked up, reliving family trauma in each other's skin. Why don't I tell you you're good enough, and you play my prodigal husband who eventually comes home?

Enough. He left. Opted out of touching you, first. But he stayed too close; you can pull him back into your orbit. Force his hand again, one way or another.

Ask.