His Wife

Chapter 1: What Is Love?

A soft whistle flew through the kitchen window since it was an early June afternoon. I couldn't help but gaze outside for a moment to view everything that beamed with life. Because my husband and I lived in the country, through the window all I saw was a fresh cut lawn of glistening green grass that shone in the midday sun because it had showered the night before and our perfectly zigzag driveway that's always a challenge to drive in and out of, especially in the winter. As my husband and I drove to dinner one night in the winter, he turned the curve too swiftly and landed us in the snow. Instead of going on a date that night, we ended up shoveling snow out from under our wheels and there was no point in even going because we had already missed our reservation by the time we got our car out of the driveway. That's why we'll only ever drive five miles per hour tops on that driveway in the winter.

I took another glance at the window as the wind went from a whistle to a loud screech and it felt like it had the need to brush across every tree. And of course, I can't forget the main thing I see through that window. Woodland. Lots and lots of woodland. Because we have a relatively large yard, I don't have to douse myself in bug spray just to step outside of my house. My husband and I both despised the idea of living in a packed area or even in a community. We're not exactly people lovers. I for sure am not after how my childhood went and I feel safe in the confinement that the woods give me. All I need are the peaceful songs that the birds sing for me, not a bunch of people arguing all the time. From time to time my husband and I would argue until I just got in the habit of doing everything he wanted me to do to avoid conflict because there's nothing I hate more than conflict. I've had to put up with more than enough of it in my lifetime and I really don't think I can handle any more of it. Every time anyone starts shit with me I'll just sit down and remain silent because conflict leads to arguing, arguing leads to abuse, and abuse leads to me getting hurt. I'd know this because I had to go through the same cycle over and over again until I became dizzy from spinning around and around and around. That was when I just started doing every little thing anyone asked of me. That's when I finally decided to walk the tightrope, and I wouldn't dare step off. Life became easier for me that way and because of that strategy I picked up when I was sixteen, I got to live with my parents for a while after. They even helped me with college but I still believe to this day that they only helped me with college to get my ass out of their house so everything could be blissful for them once again.

Here's why I exist. I don't exactly know how to say this, but the condom broke. I'm only going off on a whim here, but I felt like that had to be the reason. And if they had tried to abort me, well, they clearly failed. There was nothing they could do about it. They were stuck with me and because of that, I became a burden. When I was older I'd always question why they never put me up for adoption but I suppose they thought they could tolerate me at a time until I became more of a burden with each year that passed. By the time I was six, they'd just have me sit in my room all day and if I stepped out for anything other than food and using the bathroom they'd break one of my toys. One of the many toys they spent money on. I was threatened by it back when I lacked knowledge, but now I know they might as well rip their own money if they're gonna break a toy they paid for. The only thing they've ever done for me when I was a child was showering me with toys to keep me occupied in my room and out of their way. During family events, they'd always just have me sit somewhere and keep silent unless someone spoke to me first.

By the time I was eight, they had me doing more and more chores until I ended up doing all the chores there were to do. I suppose I didn't mind it and I was a very well behaved and mellow child but like every child, I had my moments. I'd never throw fits because I knew exactly where that would get me but I would cry once in a while silently when I was old enough to comprehend that I wasn't getting enough love or attention. I barely got any love or attention after I exceeded the age of five. I wasn't even allowed to speak to them at the dinner table unless I was spoken to. As the years passed and I gained more knowledge, I had gotten more depressed the more I realized my parents didn't love me. Sadness would always lurk behind my eyes and my face was like a blank canvas because it contained no color or expression ever. What was love to me? Love was my parents allowing me to be around them which was very rare. And what was love to everyone else? Love was affection and acknowledgment. You knew someone loved or at least cared about you when they acknowledged you, which was something I never really got. When I returned home from school I was never asked any questions like "How was school?" or "What did you learn today?" They never showed any interest in me and it was bluntly obvious by the time I became a freshman in high school. By the time I got home, I knew the drill. I'd either hide in my room or sit outside. I just had to be away from them and out of their sight.