The Wife Of My Rapist

 
  She jogs every morning by 5:37. It’s always a routine jog through the water park towards the fleet of stores, beside the creek and then back to the house.
  At 7:40 the twins come out to catch the bus but have to wait 3-5 minutes for it to pull up. She waits with them.
  At 8:20 she heads to work with a designer suit matched with fancy heels. Always stilleto. Pumps are for events, stilettos are for work.
  At 1:32 she heads out for lunch with a friend. The same one all the time. Plum middle aged woman with no taste in fashion but various tastes in sexes.
  At 3:30 she calls Maria, her nanny and asks about the children. “Hola Maria es Esther . ¿Son los niños de regreso a la escuela? Okay, good. Make sure Sam does his homework before heading out & don’t give Sasha any simple sugars, ok? Talk to you later.” She says every time not missing a letter.
  At 7:30, she comes out of the firm with a yoga wear. it’s time for yoga.
  At 9:30, she drives into the garage and heads into the house where she’s welcomed with hugs from her 10 yr old twins.
  Less than 20 minutes later, a man drives into the garage and parks his car right beside hers. The cheers and laughter can be heard with a bit of imagination and lip reading. Yes. That is my Rapist.
  I’ve been watching his family for three months and they seem like a beautiful family. A beautiful family I can’t ruin. A beautiful family I would sacrifice my suffering and pain for. A beautiful family I’m willing to suffer in silence for. A beautiful family I never had.
   “She would be heart broken. She would feel betrayed. She may drown in the pain.” I think to myself.
  As I drive off, my left cheek is stained by a linear aqua path made from sorrow.
  This is the sacrifice I make for the wife of my Rapist.

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