No River Too Wide (Goddesses Anonymous) by Richards Emilie

Author:Richards, Emilie [Richards, Emilie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-07-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

From the audio journal of a forty-five-year-old woman, taped for the files of Moving On, an underground highway for abused women.

I can’t say I wasn’t warned how dangerous my situation was. At my next doctor’s appointment, when I confided the way my husband had reacted after the news from the ultrasound she gave me the number of a safe house. During my examination the Abuser paced the waiting room with our toddler son, unhappy they hadn’t been allowed to stay with me. When I emerged, the safe-house number committed to memory, he questioned me closely. What had I told the doctor about the fading bruise on my hip? Had she explained that pregnant women are often clumsy and that I should be more careful where I set my feet?

By then the truth of my situation was too hard to pretend away. Of course, he had been sorry after he kicked me. He hadn’t intended to shove me; that was an unfortunate accident. His intention had been to grab and steady me because I had looked as if I might faint. But the kick? Did I really believe he would kick me on purpose? That was an accident, too. He had leaped to my side and simply misjudged, for which he apologized. Maybe pregnancy made men clumsy, too, he’d added, as if the whole episode was part of a stand-up comic’s routine.

In my own defense, I wasn’t fooled. Whenever the Abuser made what sounded like a sincere apology, I still remained absurdly hopeful. But each time he lied and expected me to believe his words, I grew more discouraged. How could a man change if he couldn’t admit he needed to? If he couldn’t see that hurting me was wrong, would he ever ask for help in controlling his temper?

The doctor had pointed out that men who abuse their wives are likely to abuse their children, too. Even if they don’t, the child who observes abuse may learn to believe it’s acceptable, even expected. Was that what I wanted for myself and my baby? Or how about the little boy in the waiting room who might grow up to identify with his abusive father?

That day the Abuser dropped us at home and went back to work, and I spent the rest of the afternoon silently repeating the doctor’s question as I changed diapers and read storybooks to my sweet little boy. That evening when my husband came home, he had two bags filled with gifts for our baby. Pretty, frilly pink gifts. Yes, he admitted, he had wanted another son. But if our baby girl was anything like her mother, then he would love her as much as he loved me. What man wouldn’t count himself lucky to have two beautiful females in his life?

* * *

Adam went to bed late and woke early. If the familiar nightmare had visited, he didn’t remember, which was fine with him. He had fallen asleep thinking about Taylor, and after waking, he lay,

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