[ WP ] You can see the darkest secret of everyone you meet . As you enter your house , expecting to see the usual abusive father story of your spouse , you stop ; it has changed .

Tucked away in the deepest recesses of my mind I keep dark secrets. For most, looking deeply into someone else ’ s eyes may reveal a small facet of that individual. Most would be fortunate to see love, wisdom, truth, or just simple kindness. Some less fortunate among us have seen far worse. I am perhaps the most unfortunate among us, for when I look deeply into a person ’ s eyes their deepest, darkest secrets play in my mind as if they were my own nightmarish visions. The secrets that I keep buried away in the crypt of my mind are the darkest deeds of others I meet. For as long as I can remember I have had this peculiar ability, and it is the only secret I keep that is truly my own. 
 
 Shortly after I discovered this ability as a child I realized it would have to remain my own deep, dark secret. Teachers aren ’ t kindly to little girls who spread rumors around the school about affairs, drug abuse, or their sexual fantasies involving their own students. They are especially unkindly when those rumors are true, and there is no explanation for how that little girl happens to know. The petty punishments of grade school administrators have since become the least of the wretchedness brought upon by this curse. 
 
 When I first met the man that would become my husband I saw no trace of kindness in his penetrating eyes. When I looked for the first time deeply into his eyes and into the depths of what secrets he was harboring away, I wept. I pitied him. It would be impossible for any man to be capable of love and kindness that had experienced the abuses he had. Seeing his childhood of horrors as if I were seeing it with my own eyes, I vowed to dedicate my life to introducing love and kindness into his. 
 
 I found soon enough that love and kindness could never be trapped in the webs that surrounded his heart. No matter how much I suffered at the hand of his cruelty, I could never bring myself to leave. Many times I tried. Sometimes, bruised and battered I would stay away for days at a time. He would inevitably find me, would break down sobbing and proclaim over and over how sorry he was. I could resist the ruse, knowing that there would be countless other times if I didn ’ t leave for good. But when I gazed into his eyes and relived the events of his childhood my own sorrow would return, and with it, so would I. 
 
 I finally left for good when our own child became the object of his cruel attention. I knew I could never risk one day looking into my daughter ’ s eyes and seeing that her darkest secrets were so similar to his, her innocent heart whittled away until only a hard dark knot remained. Then it had been surprisingly easy as I packed a handful of our things and drove as far as we could go to start a new life. A life where there would be no secrets, no abuses, where I would never again have to look into those cold piercing eyes. 
 
 Now as I pull into the driveway and see his rusted out Bronco sitting idly where I would normally park, I am afraid for the first time in over a year. It ’ s not him that I fear. I am afraid that I will go inside and find him sitting there, that he will tell me through sobs how sorry he is. Afraid he ’ ll me how much he ’ s changed. How much he misses us. I am afraid that I will look once again into those eyes and will share his dark secrets, feel sorrow for him, and vow to love him once more. 
 
 As I walk through the door he is there, waiting. He isn ’ t sobbing, and I see no sign of sorrow about him. He looks calm, almost content. I have no choice but to face my fears and once again look into the eyes I had hoped to avoid for the rest of my days. For a moment I am relieved to see that his dark secrets are no longer the hazy, horrid memories of his childhood of abuse. I see he has a vivid new secret, from just this very day. I see him in his Bronco pulling up to the bus stop to offer our daughter a ride home from school. I see him pulling down a quiet dirt road. I watch through his own eyes as he ties up her flailing limbs. I watch, with horror, as he tosses her lifeless body into the back of the rusted out Bronco. I see now with my own eyes that he has no intentions of letting me leave this time. 

