Through the Broken Mirror

Prologue

Prologue

            "What did I tell you about interrupting me, Sarah?" he bellowed, his fist slamming into her ribs.

            She bit back a scream, not daring to breathe lest she provoke him further. She kept her head up, eyes fixed on his as he required, and he demanded, "Did I ask you a question?"

            "Yes, Sir, y—"

            His fist in her hair stopped all movement and she prayed that he wouldn't slam her head into the walls like he'd done the last time she bought the wrong brand of toilet paper. She couldn't believe that she'd grabbed the wrong stick of deodorant, and her mind raced with thoughts of self-incrimination. "Why can't I do anything right? What's wrong with me? Such a stupid mistake! How could anyone stand looking at me; I'm such a failure."

            The blows were felt but absorbed as her mind splintered off into another world—a world where she wasn't useless, worthless, broken, and hopeless. Kicks, slaps, punches, grabs that left bruises—they were all-too-familiar. The light began to fade. It was all routine. He would cheat, come home and accuse her of cheating, and then his temper would explode into a barrage of words, fists, and feet. The room would go black and she would wake up on her cot in the closet.  He would be sitting by the door. He would carry her to the bathtub and wash her clean, asking why she made him discipline her so hard and so often.

            He would beg her to do the right things the right way so that he wouldn't have to punish her for her sins. She would cry and apologize for messing everything up, and he would reluctantly agree to stay instead of abandoning her and their children. She would be so grateful that she would submit to the marriage bed, even though she had to bite her lips to stifle the pain.

            That night, he would bring home the children and dinner, and let her know that his mother was disappointed that she didn't feel up to visiting again that week. She would apologize profusely and call his mother to arrange a lunch date for later in the week after having him mark on the calendar the days and times acceptable to him for her to leave the house.

            Week after week it was the same thing. There had been a few times that he'd made the mistake of breaking something that he couldn't hide, but those mistakes had nearly stopped altogether, and it had been months since she'd seen a doctor for her wounds.

            She had no friends. Her family hated her husband, so they were forbidden access to her and the children, and he was an "upstanding, righteous" man of the church, so she didn't dare ask her pastor for help. Why would she anyway? She was the one violating the commands given her in the Bible, or at least that's what her husband said.

            All of these things flew through her mind before the darkness fell, and with it, sweet relief from pain.

            She never heard her neighbors pound on the door. She didn't feel the EMTs load her into the ambulance. She didn't see her husband being arrested while her mother cried and screamed that he was a murderer. For the first time in years, she was at peace.

            At the hospital, her mother and father sat by her bed, praying for a miracle. The doctors said she had a fifty-fifty chance of making it through recovery with only slightly noticeable brain damage. Days turned to months, and her husband was found guilty of attempted murder, child endangerment, and a handful of charges for his conduct when the police arrived.

             She was alive, resting at the feet of Jesus in her mind, lovingly kept away from the pain while her body healed. Two months turned to four, and it was at the end of the fourth month that she was told by her Father that it was time for her to return to her children; she had work to do.