“I’m sorry,” I murmur softly, unsure of what else to say. The truth of the matter is, I’ve only gained about twenty-five pounds since we’ve gotten together, but it’s enough my husband no longer views me as attractive. I’ve always been on the thicker side: wide hips, thick thighs, big breasts. I was never the most popular or the prettiest, but I was okay with who I was. Until Rick made sure to point out every flaw. Every imperfection. Day after day he broke me piece by piece. I don’t know how I even let it go on this long.
But, I finally did reach my breaking point and made the decision to leave—to go to my brothers and tell them everything. I formulated a plan to move out and file for divorce. I knew Rick would give me shit, but it couldn’t be any worse than living under his roof. But fate is a fickle bitch and the day I was going to meet with my brothers, I realized I missed my period. I waited and waited, but it never came. Now, three months later and I still haven’t gotten it. I’ve yet to take a test, but I know what the results will say. I’m pregnant by a man who hates me.
Rick’s brows dip together at my apology—in confusion or frustration, I’m not sure—and I wonder, maybe, if I’d worked out harder, dieted more seriously, my husband would want and love me. It’s too late now, though. Pregnant women only get fatter. I’ve already started to put weight on, and my body is already changing. My clothes are becoming tighter. What will he think of me once I’m fully showing? Will he despise our baby for doing this to my body, like he despises me for letting myself go? No, he’s wanted an heir for too long. I refuse to believe he won’t love our child. But does he even know how to love?
My thoughts and feelings are scattered all over the place. I’m a mess of hormones. Getting pregnant was what I wanted for so long, but now that it’s happened, I can’t help but wish it wouldn’t have. I feel a tremendous amount of guilt for even thinking that, but the last thing I want is to bring a baby into this unloving home. I was raised in one for years before Jax saved me, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially my own child. Even if Rick, by some crazy chance, loves our child the way a father should love his baby, he, or she, will still grow up watching him treat me like shit—the same way I watched my parents treat each other. Will my child resent me for being weak, or will he, or she, view me the same way Rick does? The thought has me wanting to throw up.
As I scurry back to the room, I try to recall when Rick changed. You hear about it in books and movies. They talk about it on those shows like Dr. Phil or Oprah. The woman who lives in the abusive household. How does she not notice? Why doesn’t she leave? She must be blind, deaf, and dumb not to see the signs. All I can say is, until you are standing where I am, you won’t understand. Words can hit as hard as fists. Without even realizing I was standing in the ring, being thrown into a fight I wasn’t ready for, I had already been knocked to the ground. Did I get up? Of course. But when you get knocked down so many times, eventually you realize it’s better to just tap out. I’m aware it makes me sound weak. But in my defense, the fight isn’t even close to being fair. I never really stood a chance.
I can still remember the days when Rick would kiss me lovingly. The way he would hold me in his arms and tell me how much I meant to him. I can’t pinpoint the moment when things changed. When we went from having sex every day, to a few days a week, down to once a week, and eventually it turned into once a month. When our weekly date nights turned into me leaving dinner out for him. And our weekend getaways turned into Rick going away by himself while I stayed home alone.
I kept telling myself we were just in a rut. His job is stressful. His father puts a lot of pressure on his shoulders. But at some point, I realized it was me. In my husband’s eyes, I was no longer beautiful. No longer attractive. I didn’t make him smile or laugh anymore. I didn’t turn him on. He saw me as a burden, a nuisance. I was no longer his queen who was meant to stand by his side. Instead, I became a prisoner he kept holed up in this condo, waiting in the background to be at his disposal. I once was building a successful photography company, but he demanded I stay home. He said it would be an embarrassment for his wife to be working. We were trying to have a baby, and he told me he wanted me to be a stay-at-home mom just like his mother was. If I were working, people would think he couldn’t take care of what was his. He cared more about the outward appearance than what was actually happening in our home.