No Turning Back

Sometimes I feel like this was all a mistake. The therapy might have severe side effects, but that’s not a given. I've been healthy my entire life. I'm sure my resilient body can withstand any drug they throw at it. Jerome is just a safety net, for unforeseen circumstances. But is this safety net worth my family's unease?

It's strange, how these thoughts surface the moment I look at him.

He sits there, calm and relaxed, hands laced behind his head. His very posture screams that he's perfectly secure, as if he owns the place. Which is more than I can say for my daughters, who are shutting themselves away in their rooms even more.

But can I do anything about it? I can't just say "no." My wife went to too much trouble to make this happen. Refusing now would seem like a sick man's caprice, a slap in the face to her devotion. She wouldn't understand. Hell, even I wouldn't understand—I'm the one who asked for this.

I am a prisoner in my own home with this man.

And all of it, for my own good.