Episode 12- Her Memories hurt

“Should I continue?” Zari asked.

“Uhmm, I don't know, this seems painful, and I can't see how this will help you to recall your memories." but recalling such negativity’s not draining too much, right?”

"But I wanted to share what I recall to help you see you are not my husband. You are a kind and sweet man. I know you couldn't be my husband because you would never treat me like he did. So please let me continue to share. I don't want you to get your hopes up high that we were ever married."

Devon sighed heavily. “It's not necessary, but okay, continue."

Now where was I? Oh yes. Over time I began to feel discouraged over not finding work and that Devon was always too busy. I kept looking for a job, hoping he wouldn't have to work so much and maybe we could spend more time together as a couple. But every morning, I would rise at 5 am and give my man a hot breakfast and sweet kisses before he left for work.   

Then around 6:30 am. I would get on my laptop for two to three hours, maybe more, submitting my cover letter and resume to countless companies. 

I had my household chores all scheduled out. Mondays are laundry days, so by the end of the day, I was folding and ironing clothes and putting them away. While blasting my favorite songs, Devon walks in the door one evening around 7 pm. He glares at me, singing while I iron his work shirts and pants.  

  

"Are you looking for work?!" He asked, raising his voice agitatedly.  

"Oh, hey, babe," I say happily, turning down the music. "What did you ask me?" All glad to see him. 

"I've never seen anyone be out of work this long. So when are you going to find a job? Because you look perfectly content doing nothing but singing, dancing, and living off me!" He said, going into the bedroom and slamming the door.

“I stood there, shocked at his behavior toward me.” 

It was then that I realized my husband was on edge that it took me a little longer than expected to land that six-figure job and income. Before I knew it, he started coming home later and later. Followed by phone calls, he would be working late. That sort of thing begins to happen more frequently. 

Then a few nights of working late turned into weeks of him coming home late, and the phone calls ceased to exist. And whenever he was at home, arguments appeared out of nowhere. When I tried to talk to him, Devon, the man I married, became more verbal, emotional, and psychologically abusive.  

He made it a pattern to come home at whatever time he desired. I usually waited until I was too sleepy to wait any longer. But surprisingly, he was home one morning; the alarm went off at 5 am. It is still dark outside. But I rose anyway to wash my face and brush my teeth. Then into the kitchen, I went to prepare breakfast. Before long, the good smell of ham and eggs permeated the apartment. Finally, I looked up, smiling bubbly at the man I was in love with. 

"Good morning. Do you want coffee, tea, or me? I said, prancing around in my tiny pajama shorts and a tank top smiling.  

"Don't even try it! It's not cute anymore, and it’s never been sexy." Devon says, taking a seat, shaking his head then diving into his phone. 

I did my best to ignore the rude remarks that severely hurt my feelings, but I kissed him on the cheek anyway. 

He shoves the glass across the table. "I'll have orange juice, and I hope you didn't cook the same thing as last time and every other time." He states in a grumpy tone. 

I snickered, overlooking him since it was early and he had just got up. "No, we have eggs, ham, and your favorite blueberry muffins today."  

We sat at the table to eat in silence. I asked, smiling. "Hey babe, can we go to dinner and dancing this weekend? Then end our date with a steamy night of lovemaking? How does that sound?"  I winked at him, hoping to get a desirous response.

"I don't know about that. Some people do work around here," he stated sarcastically. 

I hung my head, feeling defeated, but I tried to remain cheery, replying. 

"Baby, you know I'm trying... I'm going to get an interview soon, don't worry." 

"I'm not worried. You, the one who will have to go back to Florida as mommy little loser. Not me. But you better get it through your silly head. I can't keep carrying your weight and mind too! Do you know how expensive it is to live here in New York? No, you don’t know anything! This isn't southern bell Florida with its cabana houses." He retorts, sucking his teeth, frustrated. 

"I've been contributing what I can towards this marriage, ensuring you have a clean home, clean clothes, and hot food on the table. I'll get a job soon!" 

"Don’t raise your voice at me! I don’t have time for this. You are too dense, yet you earned an engineering and finance degree! For what!  When you can’t even write a good enough resume to secure a job!” He said, shaking his head. “So stupid!”

“Devon, I’m not stupid; most jobs want you to have experience. But I’ll find one that will allow me to prove myself.” 

“I'm working 5, sometimes six days a week. That takes energy, you know." Devon states, staring at his phone.

"I know. I just thought if I asked you to take me out early in the week. So you can have time to think about it or fit us into your schedule somehow over the weekend." I said, fighting to keep a pleasant smile as I consolingly rubbed his forearm. He pushes my hand from his arm and gets up from the table. 

"Look, I can't talk about this with you. Too clueless. I got to go." 

"Will I see you tonight?"  

The door just slammed closed. I sat there so confused, wondering as I cleaned the table off. 

"What is happening to my marriage?” 

Devon was very quiet. So she asked. “Does any of this sound familiar to you?” 

Devon's heart was racing. He didn't know what he should say to her. "hmm...."