Billionaire Flawed 1(147)

 And even after she met this lofty goal and retired to their modest ranch house, she also found that it was her responsibility to prepare the supper that her husband tried to deny her; feeding him and his crew of surly ranch hands before eating herself.

 “And if only that was the most serious complaint I had to lodge against that man,” she thought now, cringing as she contemplated her many miserable nights spent at the home that quickly morphed into a house of dreadful horrors.

 Although she’d never coveted the idea of retiring to bed in the company of the oily, unattractive Leon—a man thirty years her senior—MariAnne at least had hoped that he would be gentle in their lovemaking. Yet the rough, sometimes violent rutting that occurred each night in their bedroom proved just another form of abuse; just another form of dehumanization that threatened to steal her every last ounce of happiness and well-being.

 The birth of her daughter Ellie two years ago had served to introduce some much needed comfort and succor to the agony of her troubled situation. With the dark brown eyes that mirrored her mother’s and the sweetest smile she ever had beheld, this beautiful little ray of sunshine blessed and brightened her mother’s life; her luminescence dimming just a bit every time her resentful father—jealous of the way in which sweet, adorable Ellie commanded his wife’s attentions and consumed her love—screamed at her for the slightest offenses--once for spilling a bit of milk on the kitchen floor.

 When Ellie came to her with tears in her eyes one too many times, MariAnne knew that she had to take action; so with this in mind she charged into the kitchen and confronted her husband—shaking her fist in the face of the man who towered over her with a menacing glare.

 “Now you listen here Leon,” she commanded, adding in the harshest tone she could muster, “For three years now I have done my level best to be a good wife to you; tolerating your horrid treatment every day and night, and all for the sake of my family back home. Yet I shall NOT stand by and watch you scream at my daughter—teaching her to fear you, and possibly to hate herself. I do not ever want to hear you saying her name with anything but the greatest love.” She paused here, adding as she squared her slender shoulders to proud effect, “Or my name, for that matter. You are my husband, Leon, and Ellie’s father. You are not our master, our lord or our boss man. You treat your ranch hands with more respect than the people who bear your name, and that is a travesty. It has to stop, and it will stop now.”

 She fell silent then, pinning her husband with a narrow eyed look that brimmed with both hatred and a sense of challenge.

 These same eyes flew wide seconds later, as a fuming Leon pulled back his fist and slammed it into her delicate chin; drawing a scream from deep in her throat as she staggered backward, clutching a face that now throbbed with pain.

 “That’s what happens to disrespectful wives who disobey their men,” he sneered, adding as he turned away, “And if Ellie ever shows me the same type of attitude, then she is bound to get the same treatment. And that’s a promise.”

 Glaring after him with incensed eyes, MariAnne fought the urge to jump on his back and pound him upside the head. She knew all too well, however, that he could overpower her and knock her senseless in a matter of seconds—leaving her daughter alone and defenseless in the company of a madman.

 “I have to make a plan,” she thought, drawing a deep sustaining breath as she nursed her bruised jaw with a gentle hand.

 Over the next month MariAnne seized upon the single viable escape that gave her temporary release from her prison of a home; her weekly unsupervised trips to the market in town. Here she sold eggs for the little bit of extra money that she could call her own; money that her husband intended her to earmark for the purchase of fabric and hair pins—those feminine accessories that would help her look her best for the man she married.

 Yet instead of spending her meager earnings on yards of floral print calico, she brought the coins home and stowed them away in the gold tinted jewelry box she kept on her dresser; the only wedding gift that had proved of any use to her since the beginning of her marriage.

 Then one night, when her husband left the house with the brash announcement that he would be out late at a downtown saloon and not to bother waiting up for him, MariAnne assured him that she would not and locked the door behind him; gathering a few articles of her and her daughters’ clothing into a large carpetbag and retrieving her savings from the jewelry box.

Slipping into a long wool coat that concealed the fabric of her mint green calico dress, she grabbed a second coat for her daughter and took their carpetbag firm in her hand.