I’ve always known that my husband loves me more than anyone else in the world.
But he has another side.
He was the one who forced me to have an abortion, then watched me collapse in a pool of blood without lifting a finger.
He was also the one who carefully shielded me from a hail of bullets.
That year, he gently stroked my daughter’s face. “You have thirty seconds to decide: file for divorce, or...” He suddenly grabbed her by the throat. His calm voice rang especially clear over the child’s cries. “Send her to heaven.”
I handed in the divorce papers.
He stood helplessly in court, crying like an abandoned child. “Honey, why did you suddenly stop wanting me when everything was fine?”
I love him, but I’m afraid of him.
