My friends told me how lucky I was. They all saw him as the perfect catch. Nobody was really surprised when we married that January less than six weeks after we’d first met. He’d been keen that it should be a quiet, registry office wedding, seems he didn’t believe in all the church stuff.
It turned out to be a beautiful day. The hail that had been hammering against the roof during the brief service lay like snow on the ground when we came out. It gave a real wintry look to our wedding day photos.
The only downside to the day was my parents not attending. They had made it very clear from the start that they thought we were rushing things. Mum made out she’d taken a real dislike to him and did her best to try to put him off marrying me.
The police log showed that mum phoned our local police station nineteen times in the first three months of our marriage with claims of bullying and domestic violence. Each time the officers turned up at my door I was able to assure them that everything was OK.
On the odd occasion that someone noticed the bruising, I managed to block their questions with my plausible explanations. In the end, I had to stop all communication with my parents, in particular, my mum. At the same time, the police warned her about wasting their valuable time.
The dream man I thought I was marrying turned out not quite as I had expected. Despite that, I have become very attached to him. I’m not sure I would call it love but I definitely feel something for him and now am more certain than ever he’s the man for me.
At first, he’d proved to be a real test of my patience but now I’ve got him well under control. In those early days, he tried to stand up to me. He even had the audacity, at first, to hit out when I attacked him, hence the bruises. He soon learnt that every blow he landed on me would lead to more dire retribution on my part. He now knows better.
I sometimes wonder if he regrets the day he married me and wishes he’d taken more notice of my mum’s warnings.