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The Conqueror (standard:non fiction, 2150 words)
Author: Bentley LynnAdded: Sep 21 2003Views/Reads: 1860/1271Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A true story . . . on September 29, 1994, my life changed; my son Victor was born. Victor brought things out in me, things I never knew I had . . .

In the spring of 1993, I met my first husband John; we were both
stationed at an Air Force Base in Virginia.  When we met it wasn't love 
at first sight, but I was attracted to him.  He had, still has, this 
arrogant aura about him.  He holds himself up on a pedestal that no one 
can touch, his personality doesn't pull you in wanting more, instead it 
sucks the life right out of you.  He was overprotective and possessive 
like a mother is with her child, and after just having ended a 
five-year relationship with my high school sweetheart; I desperately 
needed that protection and affection.  I put up with his overaggressive 
affection for almost two years.  But on September 29, 1994, my life 
changed; my son Victor was born.  Victor brought things out in me, 
things I never knew I had: mental and physical strength, undying love 
for another human being, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility.  
He changed my thoughts on everything.  I would not let anything happen 
to him, no matter what. 

When I met John, I wanted a relationship so badly that I mistook his
overprotection and possessiveness for love.  And as our relationship 
grew I disregarded the grapefruit size bruises that were left on my 
legs and back, the handprint marks that surrounded my neck like a 
scarf, the oozing cuts and gashes, the black eyes and concussions, 
followed by the I-love-you-and-I-will-never-do-it-again speech.  I 
believed him when he told me how stressed out he was because he felt 
that he wasn't doing enough for me, how all he wanted to do was to take 
care of me and have a family.  Oh, how stupid I was! 

After dating for a little over a year, we decided to buy a house
together.  It was an average two-story house on three-quarters of an 
acre, wedged between two houses that were almost identical, it was 
covered with beige aluminum siding that reminded me of a thick 
peanut-butter shake, the window frames were a dark hunter green, the 
garage just large enough for one car and nothing else, and a tiny front 
porch with a thin overhang held up by skinny, hunter green wooden 
pillars.  The house inside was lined with a light hunter green 
carpeting, white tiles with small green diamond designs, and snow-white 
walls.  Everything matched perfectly.  I remember thinking that this 
house would bring John and I closer and provide me with a relationship 
that I could be happy with.  I was wrong.  The day we closed on the 
house, I found out I was pregnant and our relationship took a turn for 
the worse. 

The first few months of my pregnancy were the worst months of my life. 
I think he purposely did things to me to try and make me miscarry.  I 
was told over and over again how I ruined everything, how embarrassed 
he was of me and that people talked about me at work, saying what a 
terrible person I was for doing this to him.  I believed him.  I 
believed everything he told me.  I began to withdraw myself from my 
work and my friends.  I tried to please John by continuing to do things 
around the house despite the pains coming from my stomach and my 
violent bouts of morning sickness, the swelling in my hands and feet 
that made me look like a balloon and the fatigue that took over my 
body.  I just wanted to make him happy, but nothing I did worked. 

One day in late June, after cleaning the house, clean enough to pass
John's inspection, I sat down on the couch to rest before he got home.  
I started to doze off when he came through the door, a huge smile on 
his face and a small blue velvet box in his hand.  He lifted his hand 
and threw the small blue box at me.  He said, "Open it!"  I carefully 
opened the lid and inside was a ring.  It was a thin gold band with a 
small round shaped diamond held down with four prongs.  He began to 
tell me how we needed to get married to make things right.  He wanted 
to protect me from the hurtful things that people were saying; he 
wanted to protect me from the world.  He had already contacted the 
Justice of the Peace and everything was all set; it was all set for the 
next day at five o'clock.  I didn't know what to say.  What could I 
say?  I hadn't seen him smile at me like that since the first day we 
met.  He wanted to marry me; he must love me, right? 

Getting married didn't change anything.  John became more controlling by
insisting that I ask to go to the bathroom, he glared at me through the 
see-thru curtain as I showered, he hovered over me as I brushed my 
teeth, and there was absolutely no way I was going out of the house 
without him because I would do something that would embarrass him.  I 
needed to be the good little wife now, and if I was good, everything 
would be just fine.  I wanted so desperately to do something right for 

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