From the moment I woke up, I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. My grandma used to say uneasiness like that was ‘God’s little nudge’ warning me that change was on its way.
The rest of my day went by without any incidents so I decided to ignore the little "nudge" of warning. I put my grandma’s silly superstitions out of my head and decided that I make my own fate. So I canceled my weekly poker night with the girls and opted to surprise
Quincy with his favorite meal. I thought a nice romantic dinner and hopefully some loving from my husband was just what I needed to get things back on track. Lord knows it had been too long since Quincy and I were intimate.
As soon as I turned the corner to our cul-de-sac, that uneasy feeling came back. I took a deep breath and told myself to get a grip as I pulled up to the house. Normally I would pull into the garage but I had too many bags and the front door was closer. Just before I put the key in the door my heart began to beat faster. Something must have been wrong with my key because it wouldn’t turn all the way. I made a mental note to have
Quincy check the locks later. I heard Babyface’s soulful voice blaring through the walls and smiled thinking
Quincy had the same idea.
With the music so loud I knew that he would not hear the doorbell so I readjusted my bags and headed for the side door only to be stopped in my tracks by what I saw through the dining room window. I dropped my keys and my heart sank. I looked around hoping that I was distracted that I went to the wrong house. But nope, that was my house, my window and my husband’s face buried between some woman’s legs on my dining room table! I couldn’t move. The look on the girls face was almost unfamiliar to me because he hadn’t touched me like that in so long. I wanted to scream but when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. I wanted to bang on the window and tell him to stop but it was as if my arms were made of lead because they would not move.
Suddenly, I felt a calm come over me as if I got to rest and someone else took over. I saw what happened next but felt nothing as if I was following someone else’s actions. The person that took over me finally got my arms to move. She helped my grab my keys from the ground and find the one that fit the side door. We eased the bags down next to the window and walked calmly toward the door.
It gets a little blurry after this.
I remember her opening the door, then hearing screams and a gunshot. The woman that was helping me must have left because I was all alone. I was just standing there wondering why
Quincy was looking so frightened and why there was a woman running for the door in her underwear. The look of fear vanished from his eyes and was quickly replaced by anger. In an instant he lunged for me and grabbed the gun out of my hand. He had this crazed look in his eyes and reached for my neck. I remember trying to catch my breath hoping he would see the life slipping out of me and stop. I couldn’t understand what was happening or why he was trying to kill me. I remember him calling me crazy and yelling that I could have killed her. I must have blacked out because all I remember next is a strange man calling me ma’am and asking if I knew my name. My vision was hazy as I drifted in and out, but I remember seeing Quincy in handcuffs, and some woman crying and begging the officers to let him go screaming that I was the crazy one. I remember wondering why this woman was holding my husband and why she was wearing the shirt I bought him on our honeymoon.
Quincy was arrested for domestic abuse but the charges escalated to attempted murder when I didn’t wake up. Since I was in a coma, there was no way for me to confirm or deny the rumors that had spread. Apparently, the whole town was talking about how the cheating bastard had the nerve to beat his wife when she caught him cheating and that I shot at him in self defense. That is, until little miss perfect decided to press charges against me. Once she finished batting her eyelashes and flirting with the DA, another story was born.
So now I sit in this courtroom waiting for someone to decide my future, only one verdict away from losing everything. As I stand trial for attempting to murder my husband’s girlfriend.
Alle Rechte an diesem Beitrag liegen beim Autoren. Der Beitrag wurde auf e-Stories.org vom Autor eingeschickt Dionne Davis.
Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.org am 26.03.2010.