3
Back at the house, I sat on the sofa in a daze.
Ethan was home earlier than usual.
He stood in the hallway, meeting my gaze.
It was like seeing the past me.
After work, I’d sit in the living room, waiting
until late at night for my husband to come
home.
I’d smile, take his coat and shoes.
“Honey, are you tired? I learned a new
massage technique, want me to…”
For years, besides teaching dance, I revolved
around him.
The cycle repeated, but I never got a kind word from him.
Now that I’ve distanced myself, seeing the
past objectively, I realized how foolish I’d
been.
Seeing my lack of reaction, Ethan frowned.
“What are you thinking about? Running
away?”
I chuckled.
“If I wanted to run away, what would you do?”
He walked towards me, pushing me onto the
sofa, skillfully changing the subject.
“You don’t like your son, then let’s have a
daughter, daughters are more obedient, they
can keep you company, you’ll have an easier
time at home.”
く
When I married into the family, the maids saw
Ethan’s indifference, and because I was quiet,
they didn’t take me seriously, leaving all the
hard work to me.
I loved Ethan deeply, never complaining.
He saw my plight but looked on coldly.
My thoughts returned to the present, my nightgown was pulled off.
His kiss landed on my body.
Fierce and domineering, with a punitive
undertone.
No matter how he touched me, I was
unresponsive.
Apparently, when you don’t love someone,
your body doesn’t react.
Ethan found it uninteresting and got off me.
“Sarah, I know your body, you shouldn’t react
this way.”
He pinched my chin, scrutinizing me.
“Tell me, have you been with other men?”
く
Ethan loved women, but he was a clean freak;
he didn’t allow the women he slept with to be
with other men.
A security guard at the studio liked to watch
me dance; Ethan saw him and had the studio owner fire him. Ethan even sent him to jail for
harassment.
I bit my lip, laughing bitterly.
“Yes, just like you think, I’ve slept with every
man in the studio, are you going to send them
all to jail?”
Ethan narrowed his eyes, his voice husky.
“Is that so?”
Suddenly, he picked me up and carried me to
the bathroom.
He actually suspected me!
“Since you’re dirty, let’s clean you up.”
He threw me into the bathtub, the
showerhead aimed at my face, cold water
pouring down.
く
My skin prickled.
I struggled, but I couldn’t push him away.
Stimulated by the cold water, my PTSD flared
- up.
My mind flashed back to the plane crash that killed my parents when I was thirteen.
I trembled, curled up in the corner.
Ethan thought I was faking again.
“Sarah, don’t forget why you married me,
you’re not here to enjoy life, you’re here to
atone!”
That sentence again, repeated countless
times.
That was his usual mode of interaction with
- me.
Nine out of ten sentences were malicious.
