The Killing of Faith: A Suspense Thriller You Won't Soon Forget. (The Killing of Faith Series Book 1)

by William Holms

  I make sure the shock and disappointment on my face are obvious when he tells he doesn’t want a big family. I look down and pout, which I do sometimes but it’s much more effective now that I’m pregnant. I don’t talk throughout the meal, and I barely touch any of my food.

  When he’s finished with his plate and we’re still sitting in silence, he looks at me and asks, “Are you going to eat your food?”

  “I’m not hungry,” I answer without looking up.

  He puts down his fork, takes a deep breath, and asks, “Okay, how many kids do you want?” His whole attitude irritates me. It’s obvious he doesn’t really care about me or what I think. He doesn’t want to talk about it but he knows he has no choice.

  “I don’t know,” I shrug. “I want to have a big family.”

  “A big family!”

  “Don’t you want to have a big family with me?” I ask

  “What’s a big family?” he asks, obviously afraid to hear my answer.

  “I don’t know. Maybe four or five kids.”

  “Five kids!” Ryan repeats loudly, his eyes as big as quarters from the shock. I expect him to start choking on his steak like you see on television when someone hears shocking news.

  I’m hoping a tear or two might soften him up so I don’t even try to hold back my emotions. “What’s wrong with five kids?” I ask.

  “Nothing’s wrong with it for some people but I’d never want that many kids.”

  This really surprises me. As much as he likes kids, I thought he’d want as many as I do. One kid is not the life I saw for us. “Why not?” I ask, dabbing my eyes with my napkin.

  “I want to live; I want to go out to nice restaurants; I want to travel and go on nice vacations. Do you know what it costs to raise five kids?”

  “We can do all those things,” I agree and pause to wipe another tear running down my cheek. “We’ll just do them as a family.”

  “I want to do those things as a family but I’m happy with you, me, and one child. I don’t need a big family to be happy.”

  One Child! Now I’m the one who almost chokes. As a little girl, I never cooked for just one doll. I always had at least five dolls sitting around the table. His answer repeats in my head. I’ll never be happy with just one child.

  “Don’t you like having babies with me?” I ask (which is very close to my “Don’t you love me,” that usually works wonders to bring him around to my side).

  “Of course, I like having a baby with you. I love having a baby with you.”

  I can’t believe my teary blue eyes, pouty attitude, and eight-month pregnant belly doesn’t bring him to my way of thinking. Everyone knows that one child is not a family. I keep dabbing my eyes to make sure he (and everyone around us) sees how upset I am.

  He leans over, and whispers in a low voice so no one can hear except me, “Faith, please stop. Don’t get yourself upset.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t help it,” I pout with quivering lips. I get up to go to the restroom. After a few steps, I turn back to face him. “You have a dream of having a family with the man you love, and now you learn he doesn’t feel the same way.”

  Ryan looks at the tables around us to make sure no one is watching. A couple at the table next to us looks over at me (eight months pregnant), and then at him obviously disturbed by what they see. Ryan takes a deep breath, lets it out, and leans back in his chair.

  I walk away to the restroom. The same kind woman who was sitting at the table next to us comes into the restroom right behind me to make sure I’m okay. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “Nothing,” I cry trying to keep it together.

  She pulls out a tissue from the box on the sink, and hands it to me. “Honey, don’t let your husband upset you right now,” she warns.

  “No, it’s not really his fault,” I say taking the tissue and wiping away my tears.

  A few minutes later, Ryan comes to the door and opens it just a crack. “Faith,” he mutters holding the door open, “Please come back to the table.”

  She rubs my back and asks, “Are you gonna be okay, sweetie?”

  I nod my head so she walks out the door right past Ryan, and give him a look that doesn’t help the situation. I turn to him, and say, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  When I return to the table, our dessert is sitting between us. Ryan sets down his napkin, and says, “You okay?”

  “I guess I’ll be okay,” I say.

  He reaches out and takes my hand. “Faith, I do feel the same way about you,” he says. “Just because I don’t want five kids doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

  Now I feel like he’s talking down to me—like I’m a child. I’m not a child, and I don’t like when he does this. I sit back down and pick at my food. I don’t say another word at the restaurant or during the whole drive home.

  As soon as we get home, we climb into bed and lay there in silence. We never argue since we found out I’m pregnant. I want him to reach out to me so I can turn away but he doesn’t. As I lie there in my thoughts, I realize that it doesn’t really matter. Ryan and I have been together for over two years. I’ve already learned that the best thing to do when we reach an impasse like this is to just wait. Throw the idea out there for him to reject, and then pout until he gives in. Well, this is one of those, “throw it out there and pout” moments. We don’t have to decide everything tonight. He loves me. He loves children.

  When he finally sees the baby that’s been growing inside me—when he holds her in his arms for the first time—he’ll want as many babies as I’m willing to have. I’m absolutely sure of it.

  – CHAPTER 10 –

  I give birth to a beautiful baby girl who looks just like me. She has the same blonde hair, and bright blue eyes that have served me well all my life. She’s so tiny that the baby clothes we bought completely swallow her so Ryan has to run to the store and find doll clothes that fit her. All I’ve ever wanted since I was sixteen is a baby. She’s born two weeks before Christmas and she’s our precious Christmas present. We name her Grace. It is our prayer that she will always be covered in God’s grace. She’s Daddy’s little girl.

  I now have a real kitchen, a real husband, and a real baby of my very own. My greatest joy is feeding her, bathing her, changing her diapers, dressing her up, fixing her hair, and putting her to bed. It’s just like my time with my dolls, except … well, never mind, it’s nothing like playing with my dolls! Ryan’s as happy as I am. He feeds her, changes her diapers, bathes her, and well … well, he worships her. He’s as proud as Rhett Butler pushing his little girl, Bonnie, in a baby carriage down the streets of Atlanta showing her off to anyone who’ll look. In the movie, the ladies all stare and say, “There must be a great deal of good in a man who would love a child so much.”

  All the love Ryan feels for me pours like a raging river into our daughter. When our precious little girl starts to walk, Ryan is beginning to soften just like I knew he would. Each time we see a little boy, I always remind him how he needs a son of his own. A push here, a nudge there, and Ryan is right where I want him. I’m lying on top of him after sex, and sit up to talk. This is always the best time for me to discuss sensitive topics so I kiss him one more time, and in the sweetest voice I can muster I say, “Ryan, you love kids too much to only have one.”

  “It wouldn’t be fair to have another child,” he jokes, to my dismay. “I love Grace so much, another baby would feel left out.”

  “Don’t say that,” I say, putting my hand on his stomach and caressing his chest. “It doesn’t work like that. Love doesn’t have limits. You have enough love for both.”

  “You’re probably right,” he agrees, raising my hopes for a brief second, “but I’m happy the way things are right now.”

  “Ryan … you need a little boy to play ball with, and go golfing with, and to follow you around everywhere you go.”

  Arguing with Ryan gets me nowhere. There are three ways to get what I want, and arguing is not one
of them. The first is to make him believe it’s his idea in the first place. The second is to tell him how much I love him. The third is to threaten to take that love away from him. I only use the third when it’s important and all else fails. I reserve it for the worst arguments because I’m afraid of what will happen if I use it one too many times and it blows up in my face. On this occasion, all he needs to hear is how much I love him.

  “Come on, Ryan, I love you and I want to have a little boy with you.”

  “I don’t know,” he sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “It might be nice to have a little boy. Let me think on it.”

  I can’t believe it worked; I mean, I can’t believe he agreed. I know he said something about thinking about it but all I hear is the part about how nice it might be to have a little boy and that’s enough for me. We never discuss it again.

  I never need to coax him into having sex. My tiny nightgown will take care of it. I flush my pills down the toilet and never look back. We make love, and I fall asleep dreaming of our new baby boy.

  I get pregnant almost immediately. At first, Ryan seems surprised when I tell him I’m pregnant but I remind him how he agreed, and he falls in line, or in love, pretty quickly. It’s not worth an argument, especially since I’m now pregnant. He again goes to all my doctor’s appointments. When we go for the ultrasound to find out if we’re having a girl or a boy, I whisper a little prayer to God … or maybe just to myself: “Please let me have another girl.”

  It’s not that I necessarily want another daughter but if we have a girl, it makes my job of convincing Ryan to have another baby so much easier. He’ll still need a little boy to play baseball with.

  Sometimes, I know God hears my prayers … but this is not one of those times. We have the most beautiful little boy anyone’s ever seen. This time he looks exactly like his father and, just like I said, Ryan has enough love for both of our children. We name him Colt after some famous football player. Colt and his dad are inseparable.

  Now I know we’ll have five kids. If it worked once, it’ll work three more times, but Ryan’s three-bedroom house isn’t near big enough. While Ryan’s at work, I look through advertisements, and drive around the city until I find our (not his) new home. It’s the perfect home with a big back yard and a swimming pool. I know he’ll be shocked when I tell him the price but we can afford it. All I have to do now is wait for the best time to introduce him to his new home. I know the perfect moment and I have the perfect nightie for the occasion.

  We’ve been married seven years, have two beautiful children, a new home, and we’re busy building a life together. Ryan’s smart and has a great personality that serves him well. His reputation for success quickly spreads, and people pay to have that success on their side. He opens his own law office, and it provides a life beyond either of our wildest imaginations. We have a beautiful house, fancy cars, new clothes, expensive jewelry, and incredible vacations. We take trips to New York, San Francisco, Boston, London, Paris, Rome, Budapest, Vienna, or wherever we dream of next. Everywhere we travel, people ask if we’re on our honeymoon. We usually take one vacation together, and another with the family. He spoils our kids with the same great life. We want for nothing.

  In the early years of our marriage, we seldom argue and our arguments never last long. We both agree to never go to bed angry. It may be a simple “I’m sorry” or “I love you” or maybe we just agree to surrender. No matter how bad we argue, we always make up before falling asleep.

  ***************** PRESENT MOMENT *****************

  Reading this today, you might think I had everything a girl could ever want. It sounds like a love story, right? Well, this is definitely not a love story. You see, when you’re young, the world is a very different place. On our honeymoon, an elderly couple came right up to us and said, “Remember, don’t sweat the small stuff”, but when you’re young nothing’s too small not to argue about. All the small stuff feels like big stuff.

  I’m not young anymore, and now I know better. It took losing everything to see it. Where I am now, I have nothing … well, nothing but time—time to think about my life. I wish I could go back and talk to my younger self. I’d tell her to stop. I’d tell her that the size of your house, the color of your walls, the decorations on your counters, and even the number of children you have is not what makes you happy. I wish I could be back in our little three-bedroom house with tan walls, law books on the shelves, and video games scattered everywhere. Really, it wasn’t so bad. How I wish I could hold my children in my arms just one more time.

  Some people have to hit rock bottom before they get the message. Well, I’ve hit rock bottom. Now there are no houses, no yards, no decorations, and no children. I’m trapped in this darkness, desperately searching for any way out.

  – CHAPTER 11 –

  So, my life sounds like a fairy tale, right? Well, fairy tales only exist in books where they belong. The books end when the princess gets the prince. It’s all so sweet and magical. Real life, real marriage, is something entirely different. It’s not sweet or magical at all. Getting married is easy. Staying married is the hardest thing you’ll ever do. It’s difficult, sometimes messy, and often ugly. Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, something new blindsides you at four in the morning.

  When Ryan and I first got together, we seemed so much alike. We’re actually very different but somehow we missed that part. We never really asked if we were right for each other. I don’t think either one of us wanted to hear the answer. We were both in love, and love was enough.

  I’m an introvert, and he’s an extrovert. To him, life’s an adventure. He loves being around people, and he’s the life of the party. Not me. I prefer to stay at home. He’s always in the limelight, and I’m his beautiful wife. My job is to clean the house, cook dinner, take care of our children, welcome guests, and laugh at all his jokes. This was all fine when I was young but eventually, I got tired of being the cheerleader. I already did that in high school, and I’m not a teenager anymore. Every time a preacher talks about “obeying your husband” I want to scream.

  Ryan mostly watches news and political shows. As for me, I can’t tell the difference between the horse and the pig. I would never tell him, but really I find it all pretty boring. As soon as he leaves I turn on the cooking channel or the Kardashians.

  Ryan can be demanding, both of himself and others. He succeeds in everything he does, and expects the same from his children and me. This may work for the kids but I’m not his child. I can be forgetful, fanciful, and sometimes illogical, which Ryan always points out. I often assume the worst, which gets me in trouble. Ryan, for example, always reminds me how I thought we were going to break up when he was actually asking me to marry him. I’m no longer the closed-eyed pup who believes in love, marriage, and mom’s apple pie.

  You see, when you love someone and they cheat on you, it changes you forever. I don’t trust Ryan, or any man for that matter. This drives Ryan crazy. The sure way to be cheated on is to believe you’ll never be cheated on, so I’m always on guard. I’m not going to walk into my bedroom, and find him in bed with some purple haired girl with a devil tattoo on her breast and a smart mouth. We’re all the product of everything that’s happened to us up until today, and this is who I am. I’ll never again be that stupid girl. It’s as plain and simple as that. Ryan just has to learn to accept it.

  Ryan is logical. He thinks everything through and uses words with the skill of a surgeon. He’ll talk things to death, which drives me crazy. He’s always right!

  I, on the other hand, am always wrong. I’m emotional, and I make most of my decisions based on how I feel at the time. Ryan once said in an argument, “To me, one plus one always equals two. To you, one plus one equals whatever you feel like that day.”

  You see, he’s full of these smart, witty sayings, and the truer they are the more I want to punch him in the face.

  You’d think he’d win every argument, right? Well, despite Ryan�
�s smart and logical arguments, I have the one thing that trumps all his abilities. He loves me. It’s not that I don’t love him, because I do, but we both know he loves me more, and I have no intention of ever telling him otherwise. Where would I be if I did?

  All I have to do is threaten to divorce him or yell, “I hate you” and storm out the room. Next thing, Ryan’s chasing after me apologizing for everything. This might sound pretty dysfunctional … because it is! I never said it was healthy but it’s the only leverage I have, and I’m not letting it go any time soon.

  The only thing Ryan loves as much as me is his two children. He takes his kids everywhere he goes, and spends all his free time at a park, the beach, the pool, or at some other kid’s activity. The problem … he doesn’t want any more kids. I stay at home because I love taking care of a baby. Our two babies are getting older and going to school. My reason for staying home is now gone. I want another baby but Ryan doesn’t. This infuriates me. He acts like he’s the master of the house, and I’m the wife who must submit to her husband like we’re in church or something. I’m the one at home but he gets to decide how many kids we have? How can anyone believe that’s fair?

  I try to convince Ryan we need another baby but nothing I say, nothing I do, nothing I try, changes his mind. I eventually have no choice but to take matters into my own hands. I “accidentally” miss some pills. I now take a pill every day for anxiety—that’s not the pill I’m talking about. Just like always, I get pregnant immediately.

  What about Ryan you ask? Well, that’s a little more complicated. I know Ryan loves me. I once painted our bedroom dark green (which he hated) and he got over it. He’ll have to get over this too.

  I spend weeks trying to find the courage to break the news to him. Things have been going great lately, so I hate to ruin everything, but I’m running out of time. My jeans are getting a little harder to button, and the other night Ryan commented how big my breasts seem. I almost told him everything but it just didn’t feel right. Our sex life has been great and I don’t want ruin it. This is the kind of news I need to break in public.