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At these times she started to linger and we talked. Gradually the whole of her married history was revealed and I grew angry at the way her husband treated her. He was one of those men who believed that a wife was a chattel that he owned along with the furniture. Someone who had no rights except to keep the house clean, cook his meals and become a receptacle for his sperm whenever he chose; nor complain when he took the fancy to deposit his sperm in another woman's body. That Millie worked as well; contributing to the household budget was of no consequence to him, sharing the household work didn't enter into his philosophy. I would sometimes, when she questioned me talk about my wife and describe her actions. We neither realised that these conversations acted as a catharsis, healing our respective wounds. Neither did either of us become aware of the eagerness to be together and just talk.The day dawned in early November when I was finally allowed to hobble outside with a walking. "You've had a long day, hon. Why don't you draw a bath for our little guest, Carolyn, and he can get what I'm sure is some needed sleep. You'll be sleeping in Susan's room, Chrissy" Mary went on to explain. The boy noticed the affectionate manner she had addressed him, and while blushing slightly, liked the sound of it. "Thank you, Ma'm. You've been so kind to me." With that, Mary excused herself and Carolyn led the youngster up a long curving stairway to make an early night of it. Following the young woman a step of two behind, Chris couldn't help but notice how her long shapely legs disappearred beneath the froth of petticoats. From this new vantage point, Carolyn's also displayed the frilled garter tabs that held her stockings taut. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled as she noticed the boy's stare and gave her hips a more pronounced wiggle to tease him further. She lead the boy into his room for the weekend, and while he was too polite.
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Time passed, and the pain lessened a little, and then I couldn’t do it. But I never got over it either. And I never forgot Julie. Or our daughter. That’s why I never married.’ ‘And when I wrote that story, I kind of had our daughter in mind, since she would have been about the right age, and knowing her mother, I pictured what she might look like. She was the heroine… Kelly… YOU!’ I sobbed, looking straight at Kelly. Ron and Kelly looked at each other, speechless. But Carrie, who had been quiet during the entire conversation, suddenly blurted out, ‘Oh my God! We have to go to the house… NOW! Tom, please… you need to come with us, it’s only a few minutes walk. This may be important.’ I followed them, and we walked, pretty much in silence at a fast pace, Ron and Kelly carrying the kids. It was an older house, which had belonged to Kelly and Carrie’s parents until their mother died, five years ago. Carrie lived there alone now, and the family came to visit once or twice a year. It was a.

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