https://penastory.com/2016/06/20/letter-to-my-husband-to-be-read-by-nurse-titi/

Dear Husband,

Where you come from, I know. Who you were, I am not sure. Who you are, I do not know. Who you have become, I fear. If you are reading this, I AM DEAD AND GONE. Five years ago, letting my fears go, you became my alter ego. My walls you broke not just with the words you spoke but with every stroke of your balls. It was no surprise when you ducked the price, bought the ring and popped the question. Happiness made me hop around like a water deprived frog. Finally, I get to be with the man that knows my soundtrack and makes me crack. My life was like Beyonce’s Halo just that I saw no risk in this photo. You were my Halo. Mine.
The wedding day drilled a hole in my brain. I felt my ex’s pain. My bridal train was the typical chain. Popping champagne without brain. I remember how you hung on my every word and your kiss like soft fruit. You may kiss your bride was like ping pong. “Get a room” separated us. We were the perfect bond. Taking over my body, you became my wheel. It became nothing as long as it was not your will. You became my eyes, ears, legs, hands. You owned me. I couldn’t feel. You did the feeling. You claimed to love me. There was no need to do some complaining.

Two years and a half into our supposed marriage, the witches of Oz opened our page and possessed you with unfathomable rage. Rage that led to envy, jealousy and hate. Rage that led to immaturity and intolerance. Rage that led to few then more canes. Rage that led to staying out late. Rage that led to BDSM and rape. Unabating rape. If you were to be paid for being Mr. Rage, you would be more than Bill Gates. I remember how sober you would be in the morning. How any reasonable conservation will lead me into mourning because of your newly found sport; raping. Ah! When did rape become the new way?

Society frowns at failed marriages and single motherhood. Society defines our livelihood. Curse be on society; the fake hood. I complained to my mom. My only boom. She said; “What will my friends say now? Don’t make me a laughing stock now. Go back to your husband now”. Thanks to my photographic memory. I remember vividly. Naively, I told you about my encounter with my beloved mommy. Then you beat the living darkness out of me. You called me a prostitute and a brute. Said I wanted to flip the page and end the marriage. Then you caged me. I had no friends. No family. Just my shadow and me.

No more apologies were tendered for your demonic rage. The rape continued. The battering continued. The spiteful words continued. I became a walking dead until my body got tired and I landed in the comfort of the hospital. Thank Nurse Titi for me. She fully understood me. She became my voice and nursed me back to life. My beloved mother never visited me. Going home with you was risky but I wanted your full attention. Your attention in exchange for a piece of my mind. The words were barely out of my gutter as you described it when you opened the car door and pushed my soul into the real gutter. Then everything became black.
Waking up to Nurse Titi’s sonorous voice, she told me I had spent thirteen days and how there is a blood clot in my brain and how surgery is a 86:14 situation. She told me everything even though you threatened her not to. She told me I had barely two months to live. She told me how my beloved mother and you have been miserable. Ah! May the misery follow you for the rest of your lives.

Tell my mother that I now know why daddy left her. For you, I had two miscarriages you were quick to describe as carelessness. I forgive you but may you never father a child till death locates you. I curse the day I met you. May you never be forgiven until you forgive yourself. Mind you, I have nothing against you. I blame me.
To all the ladies in abusive relationships, I am very much aware that every man is a work in progress but the very moment he raises his voice at you, be alarmed. Get ready to run. Don’t wait to die for your voice to be heard. Find your Nurse Titi. Domestic violence is not just about physical abuse. It covers emotional, moral, social, psychological and every aspect of life. Run the very moment he violates you. Keep in mind that Society is a big fat lie and should not define how you choose to be happy. A failed marriage is better than a failed mental health and wellbeing. I was not lucky. Ronke Shonde was not lucky. I pray you get out alive so you will not be as hateful and suicidal as I am now. You are lucky. R U N.

As for my husband and my beloved mother, may Karma haunt you for the rest of your lives. Amen. God bless you. Nurse Titi, I pray you find your Prince Charming. I love you. Thank you.

Yours Deadfully,

Your Brute.

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Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

Ok, waiting for second version.. letter to my wife