She was beautiful. She was so beautiful, just in jeans a t-shirt and gym shoes, that men would trip in the street trying to get a good look at her. She was my mother. She was tall and thin with long, dark hair, green cat shaped eyes, and an unassuming disposition. She never saw her beauty, never realized it, until decades later when she was wiser; then she realized what she had; what was lost. She was blinded by my father. My mother's beauty, inside and out, consumed my father; he loved her and hated her for the way she made him feel. He controlled her, he put her down, he critisized her instead of complimenting her, he was insanely jealous, instead of celebrating her. He cheated on her constantly. He threatened to kill himself if she left him. She was afraid of him. He took advantage of her, he got her pregnant and trapped her. Enter: me.
My dad was famous in his small town, in a bad way. He was incredibly good looking and incredibly frightening. Ladies loved him, men feared him. My mom said that people couldn't believe it when she told them that she was his wife. I suppose she seemed to innocent. She was.
A few years of emotional abuse went on, and there was nothing left of the vibrant, happy woman she once was. Her dimming light, finally went out, and she sank into a deep depression for a decade.
Then, like a pheonix rising from the ashes, she woke up. She got help. She got angry. Very, very angry. She escaped. And she won't let it happen to me.
The End.