Six months later we married in a Judge's chamber, climbed on another train, this time from Chicago to NY where we indulged in romance, fine dining, and the best of Broadway.
How could I, an average looking, unclassy gal in my early thirties marry Mr. Perfect and live a life of romantic bliss? I don't ask myself that anymore. The era of bliss lasted until a week after our honeymoon. Mr. Perfect turned into a possessive, jealous, antagonizing, domineering husband.
He questioned every moment I was away from him. Where was I? Who was I with? What did I do? Why didn't I answer his call or reply immediately to his text?
At first, I was flattered when he made unexpected trips home where I worked creating websites for clients. Being flattered stopped when he searched the house. I realized he was looking for signs of a lover.
The first time he hit me hard across the face accusing me of lying, I was dumbfounded.
Another time, when I ended a phone call from my mother and told him I needed to go pick up her medicine, he stood in front of the door demanding to know who I was meeting to have sex. Nothing I said, not even calling my mother back and having her talk to him convinced him. After hitting me with the phone, he dragged me to the guest room and locked me in.
He didn't know I kept a handgun in the night table drawer. It was from a time I lived in a gang-ridden neighborhood before becoming a successful web creator. I was the girlfriend of a gang leader who hit me one time too many.
I'm serving time in the state women's prison for his defensive manslaughter. I'll be out soon. I've built a good business as a master web creator and novelist. Perhaps you read my last book, "Killing Mr. Perfect."
The End
There are 30 romantic short stories on this Blog. Only 4 are not happy ending romances:
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