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Reginald took me into his home. I was so broken, I couldn’t even face my husband. I was convinced at first it was all some cosmic practical joke. Or maybe some sort of divine test. Surely God wouldn’t drag me through the horror of rape, teach me to love this child conceived in my moment of greatest anguish, and then let someone like Chris rip her out of my life. It would have been less painful if he’d sliced open my abdomen and yanked her out of the womb with his bare hands.
Reginald told me that I could stay with him and offered me a salary as his live-in domestic assistant. He never told me I should leave my husband, but he made it clear that the decision was completely up to me. Even with Reginald’s religious stance against divorce, I could have gone that route with his full support, both emotional and logistic. Every once in a while, he’d even run ideas by me about the best place to set up a nursery. There was no pressure. No expectations. But if Chris didn’t change his mind about the adoption, how could I even think about going back to him?
My mom, of course, had quite a lot to say when she learned I’d left my husband. She didn’t know the half of it, and I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. I never got a straight answer out of him when I finally asked about it, but I think Reginald changed her heart. One day he found me crying so hard I was about to choke on my own vomit after getting off the phone with her. He comforted me, got me cleaned up, and spent the next thirty minutes on the phone with his door shut.
Mom never pestered me about leaving Chris again.
Of course, you had your own opinions on the matter. Actually stopped by Reginald’s house to remind me that my husband’s authority was given by God, that to step out from the umbrella of that protective covering was like a fireman rushing into a burning house without any of his safety gear.
It was Reginald who kicked you out. Remember that? He’s about half your size, but what could you do?
That’s the last I’ve seen of you. I wish to God I could say good riddance and forget you completely, but the damage was already done.
You have no idea what it’s like to be under the protective authority of a rage-insane husband in addition to an overbearing, power-hungry preacher. Because the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve really looked back at our relationship from that day you prayed that prayer of deliverance IN JESUS’ NAME, it was all about control.
Controlling my thoughts so that I couldn’t even see clearly regarding Chris and his blind rage.
Controlling my hopes when you prayed that God would teach me to love my child.
Controlling my spiritual destiny when you told me that, hard as it might be, if I wanted to be right with God, I’d have to go back to my husband’s home, submit to his authority, and let him take my child away from me.
You know how earlier I talked about a line? A line that if Chris passed it, I’d feel justified for leaving him?
Well there was a line for you, too. And you crossed it the minute you told me I should think of giving my daughter up just because the poor child reminded my husband of his own impotence.
I was done. Done with you, done with your church, and done with Chris.
I’m not saying I made the right decision, but it was a decision that I alone could make. Not you, not my husband, not anyone else.
Gracie was my baby. And nobody could tell me what I could or couldn’t do with her.
I sigh while I sit in Reginald’s chair. It’s been a long afternoon. I really should be going. Don’t ask me what the rush is for. But Justin’s expecting me to call, and I know sitting here in this empty store with all these heavy memories can’t be good for my mental outlook.
“You know what?” I tell Reginald. “I don’t think I ever thanked you. For opening your home to me. For being the only person in my life who didn’t turn their back on me when I left my husband.”
He doesn’t answer.
The silence persists.
I reach out and touch the silver urn, say a little prayer for my friend, and let myself out of his store.