The Last Mrs. Parrish

by Liv Constantine

  Once they moved me to Meadow Lakes, he left me there for seven days before he finally came to see me. I had no idea what he’d told my mother or the staff about why I was gone. When he showed up in the common room, I wanted to kill him.

  “How could you do this to me?” I hissed under my breath, not wanting to make a scene.

  He sat next to me and took my hand in his, smiling at a woman across from me who didn’t bother to hide her curious stare as she observed us.

  “Daphne, I’m only looking out for you and our child.” He made sure to speak loudly enough for everyone to hear.

  “What do you want from me?”

  He squeezed my hand hard. “I want you to come home, where you belong. But only when you’re ready.”

  I bit my tongue to keep myself from screaming. Taking deep breaths until I could speak without my voice shaking, I said, “I’m ready.”

  “Well, that’s for your therapist to decide.”

  I stood. “Why don’t we take a walk on the grounds?”

  Once we were outside and no one could hear us, I let my anger show. “Cut the crap, Jackson. You know I don’t belong here. I want my baby. What did you tell everyone?”

  He looked straight ahead as we walked. “That you’re sick and will be home as soon as you’re better.”

  “What about my mother?”

  He stopped and turned to look at me. “I told her that you had been increasingly depressed about Julie and your dad, and had tried to kill yourself.”

  “What?” I shouted.

  “She wants you to stay as long as necessary—make sure you get better.”

  “You’re hateful. Why are you doing this?”

  “Why do you think?”

  I started to cry. “I loved you. We were so happy. I don’t understand what happened. Why did you change? How can you expect me to stay with you when you threaten our child and are so horrible to me?”

  He started to walk again, maddeningly calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t threaten anyone. And I treat you like a queen. You’re the envy of everyone you meet. If I have to keep you in line occasionally, well, that’s part of being married. I’m not whipped like your father was. This is how a strong man handles his wife. Get used to it.”

  “Get used to what? Being abused? I’ll never get used to that.” My face was burning.

  “Abused? I’ve never laid a hand on you.”

  “There are other kinds of abuse,” I said. I searched his face for any sign of the man I had first believed him to be. Deciding to try a different tactic, I softened my voice. “Jackson?”

  “Hmm?”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m not happy, and I don’t think you are either.”

  “Of course I’m not happy. My wife tried to steal my child out from under me with no warning.”

  “Why do you want me to come home? You don’t love me.”

  He stopped walking and looked at me, his mouth agape. “What? Are you serious? Daphne, I’ve spent the past two years teaching, coaching, grooming you to be a wife I can be proud of. We have a beautiful family. Everyone looks up to us. How can you ask me why I’d fight to keep my family?”

  “You’ve mistreated me since Tallulah was born, and it gets worse every day.”

  “Accuse me again, and you’ll stay here forever and never see her again.” He started walking again, fast this time.

  I struggled to catch up, dropping the conciliatory tone. “You can’t do that!”

  “Just watch me. The law’s on my side. And did I mention that I just donated ten million dollars for a new wing at this hospital? I’m sure they’ll be happy to have you stay for as long as I like.”

  “You’re insane.”

  He swung around, grabbed me, and pulled me close. With his mouth inches from mine, he spoke. “This is the last time we’re having this conversation. You are mine. You’ll always be mine, and you’ll listen to what I say from now on. If you are a good little wife and obey, everything will be fine.” He leaned closer, put his lips on mine, then bit down hard. I yelled and sprang back, but his hand on my head prevented my pulling away. “If you don’t, then trust me: you’ll spend the rest of your life wishing you did, and your child will have a new mother.”

  I knew he had me. It didn’t matter that he was the one who was crazy. He had the money and the influence, and he’d played his hand brilliantly.

  How had this happened? I struggled to get a deep breath, to come up with something, anything, that would help me to believe there was a way out. Looking at my husband, this stranger who held my future in his hands, I could come up with nothing. Filled with despair, I whispered, “I’ll do whatever you say. Just get me out of here.”

  He smiled. “That’s my girl. You’ll have to stay for a month or so. It wouldn’t look right if you came right out. Your therapist and I go back a long way. We’ve been friends since college. He had a little trouble a few years back.” He shrugged. “Anyhow, I helped him out, and he owes me. I’ll tell him to release you in thirty days. He’ll claim it was a hormonal imbalance or something easily fixed.”

  Thirty-five days later, I was released. We had to go to family court to prove I was a fit mother. We met with his attorney, and I played along. He made me corroborate his lie that I was hearing voices telling me to hurt my baby. I had to agree to keep seeing Dr. Finn, Jackson’s friend, which was a total joke. He was always solicitous, asking how I was adapting to being home again, but we both knew the sessions were a charade. Now Jackson had something else to hold over my head, to make sure I never left again, and I knew Dr. Finn’s notes would say whatever Jackson wanted them to. When I was finally allowed to go home, the only thing I cared about was being back with Tallulah. I told myself that eventually I’d find a way to escape him. In the meantime, I did what any good mother would do: I sacrificed my happiness to protect my child.

  Forty-Six

  I’d only been at Meadow Lakes for a little over a month, but it felt like years. Jackson came to fetch me himself, and I sat in the passenger seat of his Mercedes roadster, looking out the window, afraid to say the wrong thing. He was in a good mood, humming as if this were any ordinary day and we were simply out for a drive. When he pulled up to the house, I felt strangely outside myself, like I was watching someone else’s life. Someone who lived in a beautiful estate on the water who had lots of money and everything she could want. Suddenly I longed for the haven of my room at the hospital, far from the prying eyes of my husband.

  The first thing I did when I got inside was race up the stairs to Tallulah’s nursery. I flung open the door, eager to gather her in my arms. Sitting in the chair rocking Tallulah was a beautiful dark-haired young woman I’d never seen before.

  “Who are you?”

  “Sabine. Who are you?” She had a thick French accent.

  “I’m Mrs. Parrish.” I held out my arms. “Please give my daughter to me.”

  She stood, turned her back on me, and moved away. “I’m sorry, madame. I need to hear from Mr. Parrish that it is okay.”

  I saw red. “Give her to me,” I screamed.

  “What’s going on?” Jackson strode into the room.

  “This woman won’t give me my child!”

  Jackson sighed and took the baby from Sabine and handed her to me. “Please excuse us, Sabine.”

  She threw a look at me and left.

  “Where’s Sally? Did you hire that, that . . . creature? She completely disrespected me.”

  “Sally’s gone. Don’t blame Sabine, she didn’t know who you were. She was looking out for Tallulah. Sabine will teach her to speak French. You have to think of our child’s well-being. Things are running smoothly now. Don’t try and come back here and upset the apple cart.”

  “‘Upset the apple cart?’ She’s my child.”

  He sat down on the bed. “Daphne, I know you grew up poor, but there are certain things that will be expected of our children.”

  “What do you mean, I grew up poo
r? I’m from a middle-class family. We had everything we needed. We weren’t poor.”

  He sighed and threw his hands up in the air. “Excuse me. Okay, you weren’t poor. But you certainly weren’t rich.”

  I felt my stomach tighten. “Our definitions of rich and poor are vastly different.”

  His voice rose. “You know damn well what I’m trying to say. You’re not used to how people with money do things. Doesn’t matter. The point is, leave it to me. Sabine will be a big asset to our family. Now that’s enough. I have a special dinner planned. Don’t spoil it.”

  All I wanted was to be with the baby, but I knew better than to complain. I couldn’t risk being sent back to Meadow Lake. Another month there, and I would have truly lost my mind.

  All during dinner, he was in an unusually good mood. We shared a bottle of wine, and he’d had Margarita prepare my favorite seafood dish—crab imperial. There was even cherries jubilee for dessert—all very festive, as though my exile hadn’t been by his design and had instead been a relaxing vacation. My mind was racing the entire evening as I tried to keep up with his uncharacteristic nonstop chatter and be engaging. By the time we went upstairs to bed, I was exhausted.

  “I bought you something special for tonight.” He handed me a black box.

  I opened it with trepidation. “What is this?” I pulled the black leather straps out, studied it, not sure exactly what it was supposed to be. There was a thick collar too, with a round metal ring attached to it.

  He walked around behind me and slid a hand down to my hip. “It’s just a little role-playing fun.” He took the collar from my hand and put it up to my neck.

  I shoved his hand away. “Forget it! I’m not wearing that . . . thing.” I threw it on the bed along with the corset of straps. “I’m bushed. I’m going to sleep.” I left him standing there and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I came out, he was in bed, his light out, eyes closed.

  I should have known it was too easy.

  I tossed and turned until I heard the soft sound of his snoring and relaxed enough to drift off. I don’t know what time it was when I was awakened by the feeling of something hard and cold on my lips. My eyes flew open, and I was trying to swat it away when I felt his hand grip my wrist.

  “Open your mouth.” His voice was low, guttural.

  “What are you doing? Get off of me.”

  His grip tightened, and with the other hand, he yanked my hair until my chin was pointing to the ceiling. “I’m not asking again.”

  I opened my mouth and tensed as he shoved a cylinder into it until I started to gag. He laughed. Then he was straddling me, reaching for the lamp by my side of the bed. When the light came on, I realized what was in my mouth—the barrel of a gun.

  He’s going to kill me. Panic swallowed me, and I laid perfectly still, terrified to move. I watched in horror as his index finger moved to the trigger.

  “What will I tell Tallulah when she grows up?” he sneered. “How will I explain that her mother didn’t even love her enough to live?”

  I wanted to yell out but was afraid to move. I felt tears rolling down the side of my face into my ears.

  “I guess I could lie and say suicide runs in your family. She’d never know. Maybe one day I’ll even tell her that Aunt Julie killed herself.” He laughed. Leaning forward, he kissed my forehead, and then his eyes grew cold. “Or you could start doing what you’re told.”

  He pulled the gun from my mouth, traced my neck, my breasts, and my stomach with it, like a lover’s caress. I squeezed my eyes shut, and all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears. I’m never going to see my child grow up. My body tensed in anticipation.

  “Open your eyes.”

  He moved away, the gun still pointed at me.

  I exhaled, and a sigh of relief escaped.

  “Put on the outfit.”

  “Whatever you want, just, please, put the gun away,” I managed in a whisper.

  “Don’t make me say it again.”

  I slid from the bed and retrieved the bag from the chair where I’d thrown it. My hands were shaking so hard that I kept dropping the bustier. Finally, I figured out how to get it on.

  “Don’t forget the collar.”

  I fastened the leather collar around my neck.

  “Make it tighter,” he commanded.

  I reached back and moved the collar one more notch. My heart was pounding, and I struggled to steady my breathing. Maybe if I just did what he said, he’d put the gun away.

  A lazy smile appeared, and he walked toward me, grabbed the metal ring on the collar, and pulled hard. I jerked forward. He pulled harder until I fell to the floor.

  “Get on your knees.”

  I did as I was told.

  “That’s a good little slave.” Walking over to his closet, he snatched a necktie and brought it over. “Put your hands behind your back.” He wrapped the tie around my wrists and knotted it tight, then stood back and held his hands as if pretending to frame a picture. “Not quite right.” He walked back to the closet and came out carrying a ball.

  “Open wide.” He stuffed the soft plastic gag in my mouth.

  “That’s nice.” He put the gun on his nightstand and, grabbing his cell phone, started snapping pictures. “This will make a delightful scrapbook.” He undressed and walked toward me. “Let me replace that ball with something else.” He pushed himself inside my mouth and snapped more pictures. He pulled away and looked at me with derision. “You don’t deserve me. Do you know how many women would love to put their lips on me, and you act like it’s a chore?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be. You stay there and think about what it means to be a good wife, how to prove to me that you find me desirable. Maybe I’ll let you pleasure me in the morning.” He got in bed. “And don’t even think of moving until I give you permission—or the next time, I’ll pull the trigger.” He slid the gun under his pillow.

  The room went black as he turned out the light, and suddenly, I almost wished he had.

  Forty-Seven

  I lived in constant fear of losing Tallulah. The social worker, the attorneys, the bureaucrats, they all looked at me the same way—with a mixture of suspicion and disgust. I knew they were thinking, How could she threaten to hurt her child? In town, I heard the whispers—it’s impossible to keep something like this quiet. I confided in no one, couldn’t tell any of my friends the truth, not even Meredith. I had to live the hateful lie that he had thrust upon me, and after a while, even I almost believed it.

  From then on, I did whatever he said. I smiled at him, laughed at his jokes, bit my tongue when I was tempted to argue or talk back. It was a tightrope walk, because if I acted too compliant, he’d get angry and accuse me of being a robot. He wanted some spunk, but I never knew how much. I was always off balance, one leg dangling over the abyss. I watched him with Tallulah, terrified he’d hurt her, but as time went on I realized his twisted games were focused only on me. Anyone looking at us from the outside would have believed we were the perfect family. He took great pains to ensure that I was the only one who saw the mask drop. When we were around anyone else, I had to act like the adoring wife to a wonderful husband.

  The days turned to weeks and months, and I learned how to be exactly what he wanted. I became an expert at reading his face, hearing the strain in his voice, doing everything I could to avoid some imagined slight or insult. Months would go by when nothing horrible would happen. He’d even be nice, and we’d go through the days acting as though we were a normal couple. Until I got too complacent and forgot to complete an errand he’d asked me to do, or ordered the wrong caviar from the caterer. Then the gun would make an appearance again, and I always wondered if that would be the night he’d kill me. The next day a gift would arrive. A piece of jewelry, a designer purse, some expensive perfume. And every time I had to wear any of it, I’d be reminded of what I’d endured to receive it.

  When Tallulah turned two, he decided it
was time for another baby. One night, I was in the bathroom looking in the drawer for my diaphragm—I put it in nightly, never knowing when he’d want to have sex. I wished I could take the pill, but I’d had an adverse reaction to it and my doctor insisted I use something else. When Jackson came into the room, I turned to him.

  “Have you seen my diaphragm?”

  “I threw it out.”

  “Why?”

  He walked over and pushed himself against me. “We should make another baby. A boy this time.”

  I felt my stomach turn and tried to swallow. “So soon? Tallulah’s only two.”

  He led me over to the bed and untied the belt holding my robe shut. “It’s perfect timing.”

  I stalled. “What if it’s another girl?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Then we’ll keep going until you give me what I want. What’s the big deal?”

  The telltale vein in his temple started pulsating, and I rushed to smooth things over before he lost his temper. “You’re right, darling. It’s just that I’ve enjoyed being able to focus my attention on you. I wasn’t thinking about another baby. But if that’s what you want, then I want it too.”

  He tilted his head and leveled a long stare at me. “Are you patronizing me?”

  I inhaled. “No, Jackson. Of course not.”

  Without another word he pulled my robe off and fell on top of me. When he finished, he grabbed two pillows and put them under my hips.

  “Stay that way for half an hour. I’ve been tracking your cycles. You should be ovulating.”

  I started to protest, but stopped myself. I could feel the frustration and anger welling up until it was a physical force that wanted to erupt, but I breathed deeply and smiled at him instead. “Here’s hoping.”

  It took nearly nine months this time, and when it finally happened, he was so happy that he forgot to be cruel. And then we went for the twenty-week visit—the one that would reveal the sex of the baby. He’d cleared his schedule so he could go with me that day. I was on eggshells all morning, dreading his reaction if it didn’t go his way, but he was confident, even whistling in the car on the way over.