Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Rick and I tried for years to get pregnant. He wanted a baby with his last name, and I wanted someone to love. After four years of trying, at thirty-four years old, I didn’t think it would happen. I brought up the idea of using in vitro fertilization a couple years back, but my husband scoffed at me and told me he’s not defective, and only defective people need to use IVF. Then, he proceeded to tell me I was probably the defective one, and if that were the case, he didn’t want a baby with me anyway. I swallow thickly at the memory of crying myself to sleep that night. My eyes burn, and I close them tight, willing the tears to vaporize. Rick doesn’t deserve any more of my tears. I know that. But, still, they come. Because I’m weak.
Glancing at the time on my cell phone, I see it’s almost ten o’clock. Rick should be home soon. I’m planning to tell him about the baby tonight. I’m not naïve enough to believe a baby will repair our marriage, but I don’t know what else to do. It’s not as if things can get worse. My thoughts go back to when I was a little girl. Of my father and mother yelling and screaming at each other. Of my mother hitting him and calling him names. Of the way she turned her hatred onto me when he died from a heart attack, and she found out the extent of his cheating. I was only eight years old, but I can still remember the way my brothers tried to protect me. I know they would protect me now, if they knew, if I let them in.
I pick up my glass of wine, and once again, have to stop myself from downing the entire glass. Closing my lids, I try to imagine how my baby’s life will look. I refuse to let him, or her, grow up like I did. Scared to talk out of turn, frightened of what mood my mother would be in when I got home from school. Terrified, the nasty words she spoke about me were true.
It wasn’t until my eldest brother, Jax, turned eighteen and gained guardianship of me, I was finally able to breathe. At the same time, my other older brother Jase became emancipated. From the time I was eleven years old, I grew up in a loving home. I was given everything I could want or need. They treated me like a princess, and when I grew up, all I wanted was to meet a man who would treat me like his queen. Boy, was I naïve. Fairytales are overrated if you ask me. Maybe the problem was that every girl wants a Prince Charming, and I got a king. One who rules with an iron fist to keep his castle in order. He’s well-respected by everyone and answers to no one. Maybe what I should’ve looked for instead, was a sweet prince, one who would find my glass slipper, or show me a beautiful library. He would kiss me awake to save me from the evil witch, or take me away from the horrendous stepmother. Maybe the problem was that, because my brothers told me I deserved the world, when I wished upon those shooting stars, I aimed too high. You know what they say: be careful what you wish for because you just might get it. Well, I wished and wished and wished, and I got it…and now I have no damn clue what to do with it.
Glancing over at my phone, I notice five more minutes have passed. It’s time to go inside. I need to clean the kitchen and put Rick’s dinner out for him. He texted me earlier he would be home at ten. After rinsing out my wine glass, I take his dinner out of the warmer and place it on the table for him along with some silverware and the scotch he always has with his dinner. Then I head into the bathroom to freshen up. Using a makeup wipe, I swipe under my eyes so the black is no longer smeared, and I no longer look like a racoon. When I reach into my drawer to grab a night shirt, I spot the lingerie I bought while out shopping with Celeste a while back. I was hoping to spice up my marriage, only when I put it on, Rick told me I looked like a trashy hooker and demanded I take it off. I’m not even sure why I kept it.
Instead of grabbing my cotton shirt, I pull out the silk, beige negligée Rick bought me for our honeymoon, from out of the bottom of the drawer. It’s on the shorter side, touching just above the top of my knees, and is thin, showing all of my curves Rick used to love but now despises. Taking a deep breath, I throw it on. It’s probably a stupid idea, but I’m desperate—for affection, for attention, for any sign my marriage isn’t completely over. Maybe the sight of this negligée will remind him of a time when he actually found me attractive, and he’ll go back to being the man I first met. The man I gave my heart to. The man I wanted so desperately to have a family with.