my vision. Everything made sense now. When I first met him, we were inseparable. It was as if he were love-starved. And anytime we’d get into an argument, he would freeze up, as if he expected me to leave.
His face! He never let me touch his face. Could be the abuse from that fucking babysitter, and if I ever got my hands on the woman, I would douse her with gasoline and burn her alive.
Or it could be the abuse from his grandparents.
Physical, mental, and emotional abuse.
Bile filled my throat, pushing and squeezing and demanding to be released. Unable to hold it back, I stumbled into the bathroom and vomited. Pressing down the handle, I mutely watched my breakfast of tea and toast flush down the commode.
How did I not know?
The dull light in the basement bathroom flickered like a D-list horror flick. I caught my reflection in the mirror and stared at the brokenhearted phantom. Looking away, I grabbed a paper towel and wet it under the faucet. After wringing it out, I pressed it against my neck and cheek.
Coldness seeped into my bones, so deep, I shivered.
How do I do this? How can I help? Should I tell him I know?
Eyes bloodshot, hair swooped into a tangled bun, the phantom blinked back at me and gave me no answers.
I mindlessly climbed the steps and drifted back to my window seat.
Staring, rocking, waiting. I sat there for I don’t know how long, but then I heard the soft purr of Darren’s Camaro. A spark of hope ignited in my core as I imagined Darren dashing through the house, confiding in me about his past.
He opened the door and I held my breath, waiting for this droid that had replaced my husband to disappear.
Straight away, he strode to the fridge, grabbed a few cookies he’d baked, and clomped downstairs to his man cave.
My heart sank so low, it dragged me like a moored anchor. “I can’t believe this,” my scratchy voice whispered as I blinked away tears.
My attention snapped to the wedding album on the coffee table, and I reached for it. On the front cover, was a picture of us. A young, handsome Darren smiled from ear to ear. I was looking up at him, adoration clear in my eyes.
I don’t even know if I love my wife, or if I ever did.
I squeezed my eyes shut, burying the emotions. Maybe he didn’t know how he felt, but this was beyond my feelings. Someone violated him as a child, something he’d never addressed until I forced him to go to counseling.
Fresh tears welled in my eyes, and my hand stilled on my husband’s face. It was my fault. I did this. Pressure seized my chest, a million pounds pressing down, cracking me open.
It was only fair. I’d cracked him open, too.
And all the good and bad bits of our relationship seeped out.
The way he’d instantly go to the shower after we made love and then fully clothe himself, socks included.
I’d thought it was quirky, but maybe he was hurting or coping?
My attention zeroed in on the wedding picture. Darren’s sweet, shy smile when he told me that he hoped our daughter had my eyes. “You’re the love of my life, Kara.”
Am I? Maybe he just wanted to be loved. I squeezed my fist, waiting for the anger to surge. Waiting for the feelings of betrayal. I knew it was selfish, and I could be self-centered at times. My husband had been raped and I didn’t know how to help him.
But...
But. I would allow myself this moment. Just one moment. Then I could figure out a way to be good partner. A better friend. And somehow, push aside my feelings and be a great wife, at least until he healed.
The pressure moved on from my chest and settled deeper, somewhere that couldn’t be touched.
It was dark clouds and torrential rains. It was stomach-clawing starvation and a dry, unquenchable thirst. It was never-ending cold.
The cold turned to ice and shattered. Not for myself. For my husband. For the men and women who’d been betrayed. For those who struggled to make sense out of a senseless world.
God’s handiwork. He let this happen: Death. Death of a dream, death of innocence. Why did he allow this evil?
Why, why, why?
A stampede coming from the basement caught my attention. “You read it.”
“What?” I jumped guiltily from the couch, wiping my tears with the back of my hand.
He stalked closer, backing me into a wall. He