The Man I Thought I Married
The End
I drove over to Rena’s house and she gave me her shoulder to cry on. She told me that I should go to my husband, tell him what happened, and that everything would be fine. That me and him were gonna get through this. If she only knew that that bastard was the reason that my child would never get to come into this world.
Even though Rena thought I should heed her advice immediately, I decided to stay at her house extra late because I wanted him to beat me home. I didn’t text him or call him to let him know where I was. Honestly, I didn’t think it was any of his business at the moment. It wasn’t like he was worried anyway. When I finally did go home, he was sitting on the couch just like the night he caused me to lose my baby girl.
“How was the doctor appointment?” He asked, obviously trying to pretend like everything was okay.
I don’t know what caused me to do what I did next. Maybe it was the overwhelming feeling of anger and hate that I had towards him or just the sight of him sitting on the couch just like he did the night he murdered my unborn child but before I knew it, I was on top of him, punching his face in. We were fighting for mere seconds before he had a bloody nose and I felt a bruise coming in on my right cheek. I was kicking and punching harder than I ever had in my life. We were rolling around on the living room floor just beating the hell out of each other. I’m sure we both had a few broken ribs before he pinned me down on the floor and our arms instantaneously grabbed each others necks. I was so into strangling him before he got me that I didn’t even realize that I could barely breathe. Before I knew it, I was out cold.
I was in a coma for two weeks before I died. My funeral was beautiful. All my family and friends were there, well, except for him. The bastard killed himself shortly after I was taken to the hospital. He left some pseudo-apologetic suicide note talking about how he loved me so much and how he never wanted to hurt me and that he really wanted us to start a family. Total bullshit. This man killed my baby, his child, and me. How much love could there have been? Not enough. But none of that matters now because me and my baby are together and happy. She’s so beautiful. She looks just like me. We’re happy and no one can separate us again.
Even though Rena thought I should heed her advice immediately, I decided to stay at her house extra late because I wanted him to beat me home. I didn’t text him or call him to let him know where I was. Honestly, I didn’t think it was any of his business at the moment. It wasn’t like he was worried anyway. When I finally did go home, he was sitting on the couch just like the night he caused me to lose my baby girl.
“How was the doctor appointment?” He asked, obviously trying to pretend like everything was okay.
I don’t know what caused me to do what I did next. Maybe it was the overwhelming feeling of anger and hate that I had towards him or just the sight of him sitting on the couch just like he did the night he murdered my unborn child but before I knew it, I was on top of him, punching his face in. We were fighting for mere seconds before he had a bloody nose and I felt a bruise coming in on my right cheek. I was kicking and punching harder than I ever had in my life. We were rolling around on the living room floor just beating the hell out of each other. I’m sure we both had a few broken ribs before he pinned me down on the floor and our arms instantaneously grabbed each others necks. I was so into strangling him before he got me that I didn’t even realize that I could barely breathe. Before I knew it, I was out cold.
I was in a coma for two weeks before I died. My funeral was beautiful. All my family and friends were there, well, except for him. The bastard killed himself shortly after I was taken to the hospital. He left some pseudo-apologetic suicide note talking about how he loved me so much and how he never wanted to hurt me and that he really wanted us to start a family. Total bullshit. This man killed my baby, his child, and me. How much love could there have been? Not enough. But none of that matters now because me and my baby are together and happy. She’s so beautiful. She looks just like me. We’re happy and no one can separate us again.