"I think we can get at least an extra twenty-five thousand dollars from all the old junk laying around that dump," my husband Daryl tells me excitedly. After we are alone in our apartment. "I'm sure your Mom won't care about anything in there since she seemed pretty spooked this morning about the house being cursed."
"I still want my mother to have a look at everything before we do anything with it," I tell him. "She might want some old photos or paintings or, I don't know, maybe we will find a musical box she would always tell about when I was a child."
"Fine," he says a little disappointed. It looked like he was going to stamp his foot in a childish way but thinks better of it. "Your Mom can go through all the stuff and keep whatever she wants. We'll get it all back when she dies anyways."
"What the hell is wrong with you lately?" I scream at him. "Ever since you found out that Mom was giving us that house you been acting inconsiderate, selfish, and at times, morbid. Why didn't I seen this side of you before I married you?"
"Oh come on babe." he tries calming me down with his baby talk. "You always believed me when I told I was going to be somebody someday. That I was going to be rich and famous and we would live happily ever after. Now I have a chance for riches to come my way first."
"Well, I thought your dreaming was endearing to me at the time." I tell him. "That you would eventually grow out it and become a sensible provider and in that way, we would live happily ever after."
Daryl just stands there in front of me quit and confused. Then I see the rage behind his eyes increase and hear the crescendo in his voice as he says. "Childish dreaming? Endearing? You thought of me as a little kid? Someone to take pity on?" He puts his face a centimeter away from mine and says in a tight-lipped way, "Do you have some kind of savior complex and that you were going to change me? To make me a better person under your idea of the perfect man?"
He was really scaring me. I swung to slap his face but Daryl caught my arm before I hit him. He starts squeezing hard. "Your hurting me," I wail and he lets go of my arm.
I run into the bedroom and slam the door crying. I then hear the apartment's front door slam shut and I know I am alone. Alone to cry.
This is,
A Continuing Story And If You Just Started Reading It
Here Are The Links To The First Four Chapters
Jim Hauenstein
That is my story and I am sticking to it!
I'll Be Seeing You!
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