From Beloved To Battered: Her Reckoning

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iage, of trying, of hoping, Chase and I hadn't conceived. And this woman, this "simple" waitress

e dark, unreadable, like stormy seas. He didn't speak, didn

now felt like a violation. He kissed me, a brutal, possessive act that left me gasp

out something I didn't understand. I felt like a vessel, emptied of my own desires, my own self. I endured it, hoping, in my desperate, broken way, that this intense, perv

server. I yearned for a flicker of the old Chase, a tender touch, a ki

adedness. A suspicion bloomed in the barren

hisper from the doctor. Pregnant. I was pregnant. My own child. A tiny spark of hope ignited within

erceptible. My heart pounded with a mixture of fear and a fr

in weeks. He listened, his face impassive, his eyes still unreadable

ly terrifying. He looked at me, a chillingly calm expression on his face. "Joy lost our

ut, Chase? That's insane!" I whispered, a pr

his voice devoid of emotion. "And now

sound. "You can't blame me for that

heat of the argument, his hand shot out to grab me. I stu

ain that ripped through my body. I cried out, a sound that was half

ticky, visceral horror

ciousness: "I'll always be your anchor, Elisabeth. Al

nd grime on my face. The reality of it all, sharp and inescap

. The fluorescent lights hummed above. My body ached with a dull, pervasiv

pty expanse where my soul used to be. A numbness had se

ring me the sandalwood box from my dressing table." She

bold, confident hand: "Chase Newton." An IOU. A promise, given on my eighte

id, his eyes sparkling with youthful ador

he child, my child, had bought me this clarity. This absolute, undeniable freedom from a man who had mur