[ 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 .

The minutes ticked by today at the office as I shuffled through more paperwork but I ’ m finally pulling into the driveway at home. The clock on the dashboard of my car shows 6:23, almost 40 minutes later than my usual time arriving home. Traffic congestion slowing me down and only made worse by the suffocating heat rising off the hot asphalt that slowly moves through my lungs with every breath. I really need to find the money to get my ac fixed. I turn off the motor and reach across to the passenger seat to grab my briefcase and the plastic gallon of milk I almost forgot to buy. Bethany ’ s car is already parked to the left in her usual spot, covering up the stain left from the leaking transmission. I need to find money for that too somehow. I hope her therapy session went well today. 
 
 As I make my way to the front door I think back to the first day I saw her. That swirling cloud of guilt and shame that moved with her even though she had a bright smile on her face. The urge to protect her and help her find a path to happiness almost brought me to my knees. I gave myself up to that love and have never regretted it. I never told her that I could see people ’ s secrets. When she finally opened up to me two years later with that delicate and frail trust of hers I knew it was time to propose. Her dad walked her down the aisle and as I took her hand out of her father ’ s I made a silent vow to her that she would never be harmed again. Not by him, not by anyone. Never would she be made to feel dirty or be touched in any way that she did not invite or want. 
 
 As I step into the house I feel a welcoming blast of cool air. I swing the door shut with my foot, walking down the hallway filled with photos from our years of marriage and into the kitchen. Bethany ’ s back is to me as she stands at the sliding glass door, looking out into the backyard. I see that familiar dark swirl that is so much a part of her that I rarely take notice of it anymore. Just as I ’ m about to call out to her I notice the swirl thicken, darken and a new vision appears out of the cloud. 
 
 What? 
 
 Oh my g… What? 
 
 I can ’ t breathe. I can ’ t … this isn ’ t right. I ’ m not seeing things correctly. Mistake … must be a mis… 
 
 Bethany turns around. She flashes me the kind of smile that hides a fear and is a poor mask for what her eyes show. She quickly moves to the stove to where dinner is cooking. I ’ m just staring at her. I ’ m knocked out of my trance when I feel something cold and wet drench my right leg. I look down. I must have dropped the milk and now the plastic jug has busted open. Milk is everywhere. It quickly spans out, filling up the grouted tiled pathways like a river of white trying to make its quick escape to nowhere. My brown shoes are really scuffed up. I should polish them soon. I did n't realize how bad they have gotten. I should be more cautious when walking the concrete steps. The toes of my shoes have taken a beating. Yes, I should polish my shoes. They ’ ll still be scuffed up but I can cover up the marks so they don ’ t appear so obviously worn down. 
 
 I hear the closet door open and click close. The mop is being pushed back and forth in front of my feet that have rooted to the floor. I look up, she is looking down. I slowly step out of the mess I have made, set my briefcase down on the counter and grab a towel. I lay it on the floor and watch as the little loops of material expand and darken as it soaks up the milk. I make my way to the sink to wring the towel out where Bethany is doing the same with the mop. My arm accidentally brushes her breast. She freezes, her hand stopping mid-way on the mop handle. I wince. I will never be able to touch my wife again. Still holding the towel, my hands grip the edge of the counter forcing milk back onto the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut. 
 
 Her therapy, in the beginning, seemed to be helping in so many ways. She seemed lighter, more carefree. We were laughing more; our sex life was verging on the wild and more passionate than ever. Things lately between us have seemed off for a bit but … Oh god. Not this. Not this. It just isn ’ t possible. 
 
 How could she not have realized? How did she not know until now? Why would she marry me just because I remind her of her father? 

