A Tortured Soul by L.A. Detwiler

Author:L.A. Detwiler [Detwiler, L.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781393809807
Publisher: L.A. Detwiler
Published: 2020-08-10T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

I scrubbed the dishes, my hands stinging from the hot water and soap. Staring out the window into the abysmally gray day, I’d let my mind wander, thinking about how differently life turned out than I hoped.

Empty. That’s the word I’d use to describe it. I stared into the empty yard, cleaning the dish, my mind and heart and soul equivocally empty. I felt beyond lost and alone. Shattered. I thought the agony was never going to stop.

It had been two years since I said goodbye to that sweet baby girl, and I thought with time, it would eventually be okay. I imagined that Richard and I would march into a future not as bright but still glistening with possibility. We’d find a new way to function, a new dream of forever. I thought he’d find a way to love me despite my shortcomings. I believed I could find a way to bring that love to his heart, to connect with him, to turn his callous heart warm again. I could fix him. I could help him. He needed me.

I’d learned over the years we’d been married that Richard didn’t have the best upbringing. Mine was certainly no picnic, but Richard, well, I’d argue his was even worse. The constant drunken rages from his father, the abuse at his mother’s hands. The fake illnesses and the doctors and the plain lack of love. Starvation, neglect, and terror were hallmarks of his childhood.

True, my life had been no breeze. But at least my family got one thing right. At least they gave me a sense of faith, a religion to cling to in the moments of darkness. Richard had been given only superficial, false gods to cling to—his pride, his masculinity, and the idea that he needed to protect them both at all costs.

Those hopes for Richard to become something more should’ve been dashed. Still, somewhere deep inside, I’d clung to the theory that Richard just needed to be shown love to know love. I’d seen glimmers of who he could be—I just needed to help him polish those traits.

I’d seen the way he helped the old lady from the market jumpstart her car on a cold day the previous winter. I’d seen a tenderness in the way he smoothed a strand back from my face, the way his kisses could sometimes be charming and the thing of dreams. With every dozen dark moments, there came a sliver of hope, just enough to reel me into Richard’s grasp and make me believe I could help him be the man I wanted to love me. I felt like maybe it was my purpose to bring Richard to a better version of himself, to help him see a different life than the one his family had shown him.

Nevertheless every time I got close to thinking I was making progress, we’d take at least ten steps back. There would be the sweet kiss followed by the whacks across the face for a simple

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