CH.1

Maybe he's just stressed at work.

Seduce him, entertain him. That's what people usually tell a married woman when she complains about being subjected to violence and abuse by her husband. My own family and friends said the same ignorant, victim-blaming bullshit.

Their words echo in my head like a constant reminder of how alone I truly am in this nightmare.

The brutal truth? I was repeatedly raped and assaulted under my own roof by my husband Richard. And the most ridiculous, infuriating thing I heard when I finally gathered the courage to turn to my family for help and support? "He'll change when he gets older! Boys will be boys!"

Their dismissive, enabling attitudes made me feel even more isolated and trapped. It was as if they were complicit in my abuse, choosing to protect a monster rather than their own daughter and sister.

Like, what about my wasted life? What about the trauma and suffering I've endured? The sleepless nights, the constant fear, the way my body tenses at the slightest sound?

At first, I believed I was the problem, so like any newlywed desperate to make her marriage work, I bent over backward trying to win his attention and affection, leaving my dignity and self-respect in the wind.

I tried dressing more provocatively, cooking his favorite meals, doing anything to keep him happy and interested in me. I even tolerated his rough handling in bed, convincing myself it was normal that I should be grateful for his desire.

But after months of walking on eggshells and being berated, smacked around, and forced into sex acts against my will, I realized the issue wasn't me at all - it was him.

It was his anger, his entitlement, his belief that, as a man, he had the right to dominate and abuse me however he pleased.

The realization was both liberating and terrifying. Liberating because I finally understood I wasn't to blame, but terrifying because I knew the truth wouldn't set me free from this prison of a marriage.

I tried keeping up appearances, tried not rocking the boat too much for fear of further explosive rages and punishments. But now, after six long months of this personal hell, I've reached the point of utter despair where I simply don't care what fresh humiliation or hurt he inflicts on me anymore.

My spirit is broken. I'm numb inside.

It's like I'm watching my life unfold from outside my body, like a passive observer of my own destruction.

"Where's my damn breakfast? I'm going to be late for work like this!" Richard's booming voice made me jump as he stomped into the kitchen, snapping me out of my trance.

My heart rate instantly spiked at my body's learned response to his presence.

I was standing at the kitchen counter, scrambling to make his omelets before he left for the office.

My hands shook slightly as I cracked the eggs, even spilling a bit of shell into the bowl.

"Give me a few minutes. I only have two arms." I answered in a measured tone without looking at him, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

I heard him exhale loudly in that annoying, patronizing way of his. The sound sent a chill down my soul in a pavlovian response to the pain that usually followed.

"Did you just answer me sarcastically, you little bitch?"

I glanced over my shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. Despite the deep frown etched across his face, he was insanely handsome - like God had taken away every last shred of human decency and morals and added them all to his striking looks instead.

It made me feel even more insignificant and small in comparison. How could someone so beautiful on the outside be so rotten within?

"And what do you want me to say, Richard?" I sighed, expressing my barely concealed annoyance at being rushed and belittled first thing in the morning...again.

A small part of me knew I was playing with fire, but I couldn't help it. The words slipped out before I could stop them.

"Today, we're moving to the new house, and instead of you accompanying me to supervise the workers, you'll just leave me alone to deal with it, as usual."

He shook his head in disgust, his perfectly styled hair not moving an inch. "What classy, dutiful woman would act the way you do? For the love of God, have you no self-respect?"

I wanted to laugh at the irony. Self-respect? How could I have any left after months of his systematic destruction?

I folded my arms across my chest and gave him a blank stare, struggling to keep my expression neutral and not betray the rising anger and hurt inside me. "You’re not the only one with an important job that demands my time and energy. My career is just as important, but I always have to drop everything to cater to you and your masculine needs just because I'm a woman."

He raised his thick eyebrows in exaggerated disbelief.

His usually so captivating eyes now held nothing but contempt and barely contained rage. "Since when do you talk back to me with such disrespect, Emmeline? Did you miss the feeling of my fist against that pretty little mouth of yours?"

He cracked his knuckles menacingly and a sound that used to make my heart flutter with attraction but now filled me with dread echoed.

"You want me to take the time to properly discipline you again?"

He slammed his large hands down on the kitchen table, making the dishes and utensils rattle.

I flinched involuntarily, hating myself for showing weakness.

Sparks of rage danced in his dark eyes. "I can always make time to put you in your place, to remind you of your duties as a wife so you don't dare disrespect me with this newfound attitude of yours. I don't like this path your character has taken lately at all."

Our marriage had lasted six torturous months - six months of me remaining silent and enduring his emotional, verbal, and physical abuse out of fear and naive, misguided hope that things would eventually get better.

I remembered our wedding day...I remembered how full of hope and love I had been.

How quickly that dream had turned into a nightmare.

But lately, as the brave spark of defiance and my own self-worth had begun to rekindle inside me, I realized I'd let my guard down a little too much around the monster I'd naively vowed to love and obey.

"You think assaulting an unarmed, defenseless woman makes you more of a man?" I challenged, unable to hold my tongue any longer.

The words tasted like freedom on my lips, even as I braced for the inevitable backlash.

In a flash, he shot up from his chair. The wooden legs scraped against the tile floor with a harsh screech.

Richard was ready to unleash his rage and assault me again, like so many times before.

His face contorted with fury, transforming his handsome features into something ugly. "You dare insult me and question my authority too, you ungrateful little whore!"

The smell of smoke from the pan of omelets burning on the stove behind me made my situation even more precarious.

As soon as he reached where I stood frozen, he roughly grabbed my arm and yanked me toward him with such force it felt like he might rip it from its socket.