He was her first husband. She was not his first wife.
Her parents had disapproved of the marriage. But his charm had swept her of her feet; enamoured, she had just ignored their reservations.
Within a few weeks of the marriage she had, however, begun to nurse doubts about her decision. He was often squeamish and sometimes uncouth. But what perturbed her was his tendency to berate her even on petty and trivial matters.
One day she spilled coffee on his shirt. He exploded, almost violently, “If ever you do such a thing again I will kill you.”
She felt miserable and humiliated. Later, he was his charming self, as charming as he could be and she, foolishly, forgot everything.
But when, a few weeks later, she scratched the car, he let loose a barrage of abuses.
She protested but feebly and for the first time.
Her protest made him mad. He slapped her viciously, lifted her like a lifeless doll and, through a secret door, took her to the basement. She did not even know that the house had a secret door and a basement.
“You need to meet my ex-wives,”
Stupefied she looked around. It was a sinister place. There was a huge freezer in one corner; it looked like a coffin.
He opened the freezer and hissed, “Look inside.”
She looked and froze in terror.
A post for A to Z April (2015) Challenge
F for Freezer
You may like to read my earlier posts