A VERY BAD RELATIONSHIP
A sad story of passion and betrayal, and a life reduced to mere survival.“Black spots in front of my eyes … Quickly, put the baby down; musn’t let her fall …
Oh God! What’s happening …? What’s wrong …? Ears singing; need to pee … giddy
… falling …”
“My dear, are you feeling any better now? You know, you gave us SUCH a fright. We
thought you would never recover. The doctor’s news was so grave, he held out very
little hope for you. But, you’re still with us, and we’re so happy that you’re here” …
then, on a happy, chirpy note – “And how are you feeling now, dear?”
“Mumble, mumble.”
“What was that, dear? Can’t understand what you’re saying love, try it again slowly
and clearly now. Then maybe I can pick up a word or two. Oh lovey, I’m so sorry that
you’re so poorly, but I’m certain you are going to come right in the end, now aren’t
you, dear?”
Three years later, time and events have moved on. Iris is in the frail care centre of
the local retirement village; well cared for – if one can accept “benevolent neglect” as
some form of care. She is wearing a strong knee and foot brace, walks with a
hesitant limp on the left side, and her left hand and arm are completely paralysed.
Although she can hear and understand most of what is said to her, she can’t really
follow or enjoy television, and finds reading difficult. She makes little contact with the
other residents and is gradually retreating into a solitude of her own making.
Her devoted husband visits once a month and tries to gently persuade her to talk to
and accept her daughter, now nearly two years and ten months old. “Take her away,”
she mouths, silently screaming her fear and dislike of this child whose birth and the
subsequent brain embolism brought such tragedy into her life.
Turning her head away, “I don’t even want to see her,” she manages with great effort
to bring out in a painful mumble, “I hate her; hate her; hate her. Because of her, I’ve
lost everything. My beauty, my youth, and my life; every single thing that ever meant
anything to me has gone and it’s all that damn child’s fault. If you hadn’t insisted on
me trying once again for a boy, I would have been fine, but OH NO! You wanted a
son and insisted I have another baby even though you knew I wasn’t keen, and the
doctor advised against it. It’s as much your fault as hers.”
Bitterness and regret swept over her, making her hands shake with fury and despair,
wringing her heart with pity for herself and her husband and the other children who
had had to cope with this appalling disaster, and one with no end in sight.
“It would have been better if the doctor had let me DIE when I had the stroke,” she
whispered brokenly, tears running down her face, her beautiful grey eyes clouding
with fear of what else the future might bring.
“She’s not getting any better you know,” he whispered in her ear that night as they
cuddled together in the large double bed.
“Just as well, she wouldn’t be too happy to know that we’ve been living together all
this time, ever since the doctors told you she would never recover. When is the
divorce going to be final?”
“Well, I’ve never told her about us of course, although there’s nothing she can do
about it. She would feel terribly betrayed if she knew that I had applied for a divorce
on the grounds of an “irreversible mental condition” and that I am determined to go
ahead and take up my life where I left off when she was struck down, and marry
again and have the son I want so badly.”
“You lovely brute,” she thought to herself as she nuzzled her face into his neck,
licking his ear and kissing him passionately. He moved his hands down to her buttocks,
and squeezing firmly, established his ownership of her body and soul in their usual way.
He delighted in her health and strength and the sexual pleasure she gave him, knowing
that the other woman would never experience these pleasures again. Now,even the family
tragedy could not prevent him from achieving his long-held desire for an heir.