I wanted to make you beautiful. Not the superficial stuff of models and horny teenage boys wet dreams. But a small ray of sun light peeking through a gloomy sky. But the 'pen' was mightier than me. I imagined that as a child you weren't loved much, if at all. Nothing fancy about the plain way you were your hair in high school or the thrift store clothes you were unmercifully teased for wearing. You came from very little and was given only an ounce of that for yourself.
I wanted you to be my pain and anguish personified. Perhaps you could represent what I have always so desperately tried to conceal about myself. I made you a woman who bore the physical description of the ugliness I carried around in myself. The self loathing of wasted opportunities, the stress of that appearing as a 'scowl' etched upon your face. That scowl, I carried in my heart. I gave that to you so that I no longer would have to carry it. Was it fair? Maybe.
I gave you a husband that made you his shadow. Maybe it was wrong of me to allow you to become content with this rather pathetic arrangement. But it was an arrangement I was most familiar with. Loving from underneath the shadows of others. However you took it a step further. Further than even what I had anticipated. You became his slave, his maid. All the while, I was hoping that you would break free and leave with your dignity intact. I was hoping you would prevail where I had not. That you would reach deep inside of yourself and pull what was most important to your own personal survival.