Taylor After my therapy appointment, I decide not to attempt cooking dinner myself. I drive to Jackson’s store to purchase a rotisserie chicken and some prepared sides from the kitchen. The cook laughs when I ask for detailed instructions on keeping it warm until dinner. I type his instructions on my Notes App on my iPhone. I don’t want to screw this dinner up.Kennedy arrives home first at five-fifteen. I explain my dinner plans while she changes into shorts. We decide to take a walk while we await Jackson’s arrival. As we stroll around the block, our conversation steers clear of our counseling sessions. Jackson pulls into the garage before we make it to the driveway. I’m surprised he is home before six. Kennedy isn’t. They must have discussed being home at a decent time tonight.Kennedy assists pulling food from the warm oven while Jackson changes into casual clothes. Upon his return, the table is set, and drinks are ready. The room is too quiet as we eat. The tender chicken melts i

TaylorAt that moment, Kennedy enters from the garage. Observing our embrace, she reads the situation as a bad outcome from my appointment. She leans against the closed door with tears filling her eyes.Jackson escorts me toward his wife. “Bad day at the Y?” He asks the crying Kennedy.She cannot speak, so she only shakes her head left to right.“Then why are you in tears?” I inquire.Kennedy explains the scene she witnessed upon entering. Her mind worried all day about my appointment.“Okay, you two,” I extend my index finger at both of them. “I’m going to have too many appointments for you to react this way each time.” I pull down plates and fetch silverware as I continue. “Fix a plate and I will give you all the details from my appointment.” I promise.“You can spare me some of the details,” Jackson states as if I would discuss my pelvic and breast exam with him at the dinner table.We settle in our usual table spots. I allow a few bites before I share my results. I start with the b

TaylorMy scream punctures the silence of the dark house; I sit up, gasping for breath. My hands feel around my neck repetitively.My bedroom light flicks on as Jackson darts to my side. He climbs in bed right next to me. His muscular arms wrap around me tightly. “It was a dream, only a nightmare,” he whispers into my hair while rocking me back and forth. “Just breath-in and out, in and out.”Kennedy appears moments later, climbing in on the other side of me. Tears fall from my eyes and down my cheeks.When will this end?Out of my life for three months now, John still torments me. He was violent when mad, always verbally and emotionally abusive, but he was never physical. In my nightmares, he escalates to the next level. I do not know what time it is. We fall to the pillows, no one speaks. Jackson holding me, the three of us fall back asleep.At six a.m. my alarm cuts into the silence. Today The Beastie Boys alert me it is time to be a model patient. As Jackson and Kennedy try to mak

TaylorI do my best to have dinner ready every night for Jackson and Kennedy. For dinner tonight, I choose to keep it simple. I placed three chicken breasts in the slow cooker at noon with a can of Rotel and a can of enchilada sauce. An hour before we eat, I shred the chicken easily with two forks. I open a bag of shredded lettuce, rinse it in the sink, then place in a bowl in the refrigerator. I open shredded Mexican cheese, placing it into another bowl. I move the salsa, sour cream, and guacamole beside the bowls, hoping not to forget to set them out as well.I open my iPad and Pinterest to find the recipe I saved earlier today. I mix the ingredients following steps one through eight. Finally, I add the fruit I soaked in peach brandy all day, before pouring my glass to ensure it is consumable. Holy buckets! It’s so good. I would love to add more alcohol, but Kennedy will drink it with a fruitier taste.My preparations complete, I snag my sangria and iPad, deciding to read in the fami

TaylorThe impending ovulation day quickly approaching, I opt for a special dinner. My tablet is open on the counter, I follow each recipe exactly. I have my phone timer, the microwave timer, and the oven timer set, ensuring I don’t forget any part of this meal. Filets warm in the oven, the slow cooker contains loaded potatoes with bacon and cheese, and a saucepan of green beans with bacon simmers atop the stove.The microwave timer signals my cheesecake chilling is complete. I pull it from the refrigerator, and I take my time decorating the top with strawberry slices, blueberries, and kiwi slices.My phone timer alerts me to turn down the oven until we eat. I reduce the green beans to low, then end the oven timer. Now I need Jackson and Kennedy to arrive before the filets dry out. I decide to text both.Me: I prepared special dinnerThis might encourage them to hurry home. It is now 6:45. Kennedy is usually home by 5:30 and Jackson is between 6 and 7. I thought I planned this meal per