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The Night My Husband Killed Me Chapter 1

The Night My Husband Killed Me Chapter 1

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Published by Kathleen Mckenna

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Published by: Kathleen Mckenna on Nov 09, 2010
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05/12/2014

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THE NIGHT MY HUSBAND KILLED ME
³Yet each man kills the thing he loves By each let this be heard.Some do it with a bitter look, some with a flattering word.The coward does it with a kiss, the brave man with a sword!Some kill their love when they are young and some when they are old;Some strangle with the hands of lust, some with the hands of gold.The kindest use a knife because the dead so soon grow cold.Some love too little, some too long, some sell and others buy.Some do the deed with many tears, and some without a sigh. For each man kills the thing he loves, yet each man does not die.´Oscar WildeThe Ballad of Reading Gaol 
CHAPTER 1PART ICOLETTE
³ 
 From such a gentle thing, from such a fountain of all delight, my every pain is born.´
Michelangelo
 
 
Of 
course I didn¶t see it coming« one minute I was going on with my li
e and then I was
ighting
or it and then it was over.I never saw mysel
as special when I was alive. I think maybe i
I¶d been given time I mighthave become a little special; at least I was trying. I never stopped trying; not a
ter I had to dropout o
college because I was pregnantnot during the rough hurried years o
early marriage andmotherhood which happened to me at the same time. No matter how little time or money or how
ew my chances were, I kept trying.I was taking an extension class the night my husband killed me. I was pregnant again
or thethird time in
ive years and like always; we were living somewhere I didn¶t much want to be because he was trying something new.The night he killed me I was a very ordinary woman who was struggling to become someonethat things didn¶t just happen to, and my husband«well he was his ordinary sel
too. The thingo
it is though, my husband had never been
ordinary
and nothing ever just
happened 
to him. Hewas a rainmaker and what he wanted, he achieved. When he was around, people could barelyrestrain themselves
rom clapping. I was supposed to clap too, and I had I almost always had,except
or that one night one rainy night when I was tired and pregnant
again
and maybe
eeling a little sorry
or mysel
and
or the whole camp-
ollower li
estyle I was living. I didn¶tclap and I didn¶t pay enough attention to him. I didn¶t try to make it up to him even though Iunderstood the rules. Despite how he saw himsel
and how I
knew
 by then he wanted to be seen
and 
to be living, I treated him like an ordinary husband and
ather. I asked him why, just
or oncehe couldn¶t have washed the dishes
or me.We had a silly little argument; at least
thought it was silly. Instead o
just answering me or 
 
shrugging it o
ff 
, he started a recitation o
all that was on him: The responsibilities, the constantneed to shine, the expectations and how he didn¶t need to hear complaints
rom me o
all people, because who should know better than me what he sacri
iced.It was the kind o
argument every married couple has had hundreds o
times over the courseo
a marriage, but those kinds o
arguments weren¶t the norm in
our 
marriage. I had spent
our 
years together listening to his stories and applauding his accomplishments and i
I clapped hardenough and acted very excited, then he might deign to ask me about my day or even better, playwith the girls
or hal
an hour or so.I
knew
all o
that; I knew it that night. I knew he saw himsel
as the big hero
or having letme go to class and
or having stayed in
or three whole hours with the girls. I understood myscript too. I was supposed to rush in and thank him at least three times
or letting me go o
ff 
 gallivanting to the university¶s extension class and then encourage him to tell me either his lateststory o
heroism
rom the emergency room or the story o
someone else¶s incompetence and howhe had to go in and clean it all up.This was our routine, but it was late and I was wet
rom the rain and pregnant and tired and Islipped up. Instead o
going into the kitchen and just pouring us both the aperiti
s he liked todrink be
ore bedtime, I went into the kitchen and saw the sink 
ull o
dirty dishes and asked himwhy he couldn¶t have washed them
or me.That¶s a normal enough question, or I imagine it¶s normal enough in other people¶smarriages; it was atypical
or us though, and the stunned look he gave me made me
eel like Ihad asked or said something much more explosive than my innocuous comment.We had some undetonated land mines in our marriage, he and I. Governments were doingthat back then, back when I was alive; they buried bombs in the ground. I think they said it was

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