Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
We didn’t talk about it often, but when we did, Joy would always say it was like an out-of-body experience. From what she remembered, she had no qualms about saving herself. She found some hidden strength to do what needed to be done. Fuck, it had been my mother’s programming that saved her that day, my mother’s evil genius at work. My rage surfaced again, churning through my guilt and sorrow, making me wish my mom was still here so I could make her see how fucked up her actions were. I knew that, even now, she probably felt like she’d done the right thing for the family.
My chest hurt, and I stumbled over to the bar in my office, pouring myself a stiff drink with shaking hands.
Fuck, what did I do? I looked out the window at my beautiful, glowing with happiness, pregnant wife as she laughed at something Hannah said. I’d never told her about the programming, promising myself that someday I would, but that day had never come around. Now that I knew the truth, I’m glad I never said anything. Did that make me as big of a hypocrite as my mom?
I was tempted to pour another glass of alcohol, but a text came through on my phone from Joy, wondering where I was.
After a long moment, I texted her back that I was dealing with some business, would be out in a moment, and that I loved her. Through the window, I watched her smile down at her phone. Her text back a moment later sent her love in return. Even now, almost three kids later, my entire body lit up with happiness when she said she loved me.
I couldn’t give that up.
I wouldn’t.
Setting my glass down on the table, I took a deep breath and tried to let go of my anger, of my sense of betrayal. My love, my family, was real, no matter how my relationship with Joy started. She was still the same woman I’d spent practically every day with over the last seven years, still the mother of my children, still the love of my life. I knew, deep down in my heart, that our bond was real. It was strong, and no amount of brainwashing in the world could force it to happen.
As I made my way out of the house to rejoin the party, I was reminded again how easily it could all be taken from me in an instant. I decided I didn’t give a fuck what my mom had done. I was pissed, plenty pissed, that she’d hidden it from me all these years, but I’d hidden my actions from Joy, so that made me a hypocrite. The alcohol burned warm in my stomach, but it held nothing to the heat that filled my body when I finally had my wife in my arms.
As soon as I reached her side, I swept her into my arms—five-months pregnant belly and all—then kissed the hell out of her in front of God and everyone, not giving one shit.
Giggles broke out around us, along with adult laughter. When I pulled back, Joy’s beautiful eyes, now bracketed with smile lines, glowed up at me. “Well, hello there.”
“Hey, sweetheart.”
As I slid her down to her feet, she reached up and cupped my scarred cheek with her soft hand. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just work stuff.”
“Is everything okay?”
I gave her a kiss on the forehead. “It is now.”
Grace sprinted over, holding her arms out and jumping at me as she shrieked, “Daddy!”
I easily caught her small body, swinging her over my head, making her dark curly hair fly about as I tossed her up then caught her again. My little daredevil loved it, and she threw her arms around my neck, laughing as she kissed my cheek. “Again!”
“Maybe later.” I set her down on her feet, and she was off again, this time heading for Mark and his youngest daughter.
Joy slipped her arm around my waist and let out a deep sigh. “Thank you for all of this, Ramón. You’re the best husband and father ever.”
A pang of guilt went through me at the secrets I was keeping from Joy, but I let it go. “Anything, for you, my love.”
Holding my wife, surrounded by my friends and family, I knew my life wasn’t conventional. Most people considered me a monster, but I would do everything all over again, endure every bit of pain, just for the privilege of living this moment of perfect happiness with the woman I was born to love.
Nine months later
“Ramón,” Joy cajoled, “I know you’re mad at your mom about something, but can you at least act civilized toward her? Alexa’s baptism is today, and I don’t want our family pictures to be of you scowling at your mom.”
I watched her as she put our youngest daughter Alexa into her christening gown, the same one her older sisters had worn. Alexa was smaller than her sisters, taking more after her mom, and she had the same blonde curls as Joy, though Alexa’s hair was so pale it was almost white. She was a good baby, quiet and watchful, and she gurgled as Joy held her and fussed with her hat. I watched them from the rocking chair in the nursery, drinking in the sight of my lovely wife and child, thinking what a lucky bastard I was.