Freedom

I have been seriously neglecting my blogs.  Life does that to you, especially when it is taken over by men who are no longer a part of yours but refuse to leave.  This is why this prompt from Write on the Edge feels only fitting. 

Write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece about freedom in 400 words. I hope you enjoy my little story.

                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My first taste of real freedom was something I had wanted for such a long time. It wasn't true freedom in the sense of the word. I was still married, still his wife. But with him in the hospital I felt such a relief – I could breathe again.

True freedom was never something I ever felt before. I had gone from my parents home to being the “perfect” officer's wife. Not revealing who I really was out of fear my husband would leave me for another. He did anyway. Then came “the abuser”. He kept me frightened and alone, fearing for my life while those around me turned their backs. When I was finally brave enough to stand up to him I foolishly leaned on a family friend. A friend who turned out to be more cruel and heartless than the abuser. I was financially trapped as his employee while he kept up with his “social life”. I reluctantly agreed to the only option I felt I had and he thought he then had complete control over me.

Not this time.

I knew what I was doing and he was realizing that he no longer had the upper hand. I was too strong so he “ran” off by feigning illness. He spent eight glorious months in the hospital while I had the freedom to make the decisions. Bills came first, then play. Decorate as I chose, not as his ex-wife would have. Invite friends over if I chose. Get a job that he didn't have control over. By the time he came home – to MY home – we were no longer a couple. I was his caregiver and he was no longer in command. The little girl was gone. Not soon enough, he was gone.

He is still having a hard time accepting my new way of life. He still has to interfere to show me that he is still there and that he is not happy, but I am – very happy. He picks fights with me to try to disrupt my life but no matter. If he “wins”, I really win. I have a man who loves me and the love of my children – ALL of my children. A house is just that, a house. Wherever I end up will be home. I have the freedom to make it so.

Oudoe,

Ingrid