A Good Wife

“You have such a beautiful smile, my love.”

“.....’s .. .in…, ..ma.?”

“You don’t need makeup; you’re already pretty enough for these eyes.”

“W…e’s m. din…, w.ma.?”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

“Wh.re’s my dinne., woma.?”

“From the moment I met you, I knew you were the woman for me. Thank you for saying yes.”

“WHERE’S MY DINNER, WOMAN?!”

Beverly blinked, forced out of her pleasant memories. On the stove, the bacon was burning, as were the sausage and eggs. Across from her, her husband of six months was glaring, face red with fury.

She’s taking too long, again.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she apologized, putting the burnt food on a plate and serving it to him. Because it was always better to give him a ruined meal than no meal at all.

Smack!

Her face turned to the side, cheek stinging. If she hadn’t given him the food, it would’ve been a fist. She’s doing better, she’s satisfying him more.

“You’ll never be a good wife if you don’t give me my food in time,” Robert grumbled, smacking on the burnt food. “This tastes like ass. Make me more and do better.”

“Yes, sir,” she uttered before beginning anew.

***

Surviving breakfast was no easy feat, but Beverly managed. Shortly thereafter, Robert moved into the living room to watch television and Beverly began to do the chores. Every now and then, he’d call out to her, demanding a beer or soda. Each time, she’d drop what she was doing and do as commanded (erm, requested).

If she’d take too long to go get them, he’d stand up from the couch, find her, and hit her, saying the same phrases each time. A good wife listens to her husband. A good wife tends to her husband. A good wife stays quiet and does what she’s told. A good wife is what you’re not; you want to be a good wife, don’t you?

As she cleaned, and cleaned, and cleaned, she wondered what went wrong. He was such a good man before the marriage. Afterwards, it was like he was some other person. Maybe she never knew the real him. Maybe he fooled her. Maybe she just couldn’t see it before.

She knew he was lying. A good wife wasn’t a slave. A good wife wasn’t abused. A good wife wasn’t treated poorly. No, a good wife was supportive, communicative, and respectful, yes, but a good wife wouldn’t let her partner walk all over her and do as he wished.

But she was scared. She’d grown so dependent on him. She’d have nothing without him. She’d be nothing.

So, for six months, she dealt with his new behavior.

And continued to deal with it for five years.

***

"Where's my dinner, woman?"

“Where’s my bracelet? Where’s my jewelry? Where’s my children? Do you want to give me a child? If you impregnate me, then maybe I can actually feel some love in my damn life,” she retorted, tossing him a plate of food.

“What’s gotten into you?” he questioned, rolling his eyes. “Women.” He started eating.

She slammed a beer down on the table. “And here’s your beer to wash down all of your lies.”

He backhanded her. “Bitch.”

She didn’t flinch. “I’ll be doing the chores, again, if you need me.”

She started the dishwasher, then washed any dishes that were still left in the soapy water of the sink. She rolled her eyes as she listened to her husband smack on his food, like always.

Leaving the kitchen, she went to start the laundry and fold clothes.

“THE DOG SHITS BETTER FOOD THAN THIS!” her husband screamed from the kitchen. She’d made it perfectly that time, though; he was just pissed that she sassed him.

“AND MY VIBRATOR GIVES ME MORE JOY THAN YOU DO!” she screamed back in retaliation.

He stormed into the laundry room and punched her in the eye before walking back out like nothing happened, although he had a very smug smirk on his face as he went.

She didn’t care; it wasn’t the first black eye he’d given her for backtalk.

But it would be the last.

***

Kicking her feet as she sat on the couch, she was smiling when the cops came through the door. Smiling still when her husband’s body was carried away and handcuffs were placed on her wrists. Smiling when someone vomited from seeing brains scattered across the wall.

Everyone kept asking. “Why’d you do it?”

He had it coming. He only had himself to blame. If you’d been here, if you’d seen what he’d do, I betcha would’ve done the same.

But she didn’t tell them that. No, ma’am.

Instead, she’d say “a good wife takes care of her husband. So, took care of him, I did.”

*****

"How To Be A Good Wife?" by Dharrsheena Raja Segarran kept reminding me of an old game, so I finally wrote a mini story for said game while lowkey using the formatting style of my homegirl. Put some respect on her name.

Some of the script is from jacksepticeye's commentary during his gameplay and from the game itself.