I'm worried about my husband.

I met my husband some 45 years ago, when I was just starting college. He was handsome, gentlemanly and sweet, he took care of me and I took care of him. It was love at first sight, or as close to it as you can get, I guess. We spent the spring break under a willow tree, his hand in mine and his lips on my cheek, blissfully young and gently loving. We got married the next fall and I had our first son in my belly only a few weeks thereafter. We are both catholic so it only stood to reason, that we would have a lot of kids, and so we did. There?s twelve now, in total, between the ages of 43 and 25, eight boys and four girls. The lights of our lives.
We moved out into a big family home, a bit outside of his family?s town. There was space for us all and it was cheap, because getting in and out of there by car was a challenge. We raised our babies there, and I gave him a kiss and a meal every night when he came home. I saw the children off to school on their bikes and I kept my household going. I should think I had done everything he would want in a wife. He was everything I wanted in a husband anyway, he was a wonderful father, always laughing and cracking jokes, and he still pinches my bottom every now and then and tells me that I?m the sexiest girl in the state. I always kiss him after that.
Seven years ago, our youngest moved out, so now it?s just me and him here. It?s quiet. We?re not exactly quiet people but it?s hard for two people to fill the void of twelve. I have an autoimmune disorder that makes it hard for me to leave the house, especially in these times. He takes care of me and I take care of him.
We stay home together right now, our children still living nearby take turns bringing us food and other necessities every week or so. We?re grateful. But lately I?ve been so awfully afraid. Something is wrong with my husband.
The other night, Charles, my husband, woke up in a sweat. He was cold and clammy, almost blue around the mouth and his eyes were bulging. He bolted up, with a straight back and a fast movement, the sound of which woke me up as well
?I?m gonna go check on the baby.? He said.
I laughed, gently, because it wasn?t the first time he had woken from a nightmare, something where our kids were hurt, and he would still be in that world, where our kids were kids, for a few seconds when he woke up.
?Why are you laughing? Did you hurt it?? he said, turning to look at me. He was so serious; in a way he usually never is. We?re catholic, not humorless. I didn?t know what to say, but I guess he didn?t want much because he fell back on his pillow, whimpered and fell asleep.
I pushed it aside as a man talking in his sleep. I tried to bring it up again in the morning and he just turned quiet, went to feed the dog and didn?t return until lunch.
He brought up the baby again by dinnertime.
?Where?s the baby?? he said.
?We don?t have a baby anymore, we have our big kids, they have babies of their own.? I said, and only then did I realize that the nightmare might have concerned our grandbabies. I admit, I was relieved. I was growing concerned. He had been so quiet all day.
?Is this about Emily? Are you worried about her?? I asked, Emily being our youngest grandchild, but he just sneered and told me that Emily could go to hell for all he cared. I would have probably burst into tears right then and there, I had never heard anything less like my husband, my wonderful and loving husband who was prouder than anyone when he was appointed Emily?s godfather only a few months ago.
He derailed from there. Ranging between screaming at me to get him the baby to telling me that he was gonna have to do it himself, that I was a worthless witch with a barren womb. I?ve lost weight in the last few days. I?m always scared.
Our dog had a miscarriage yesterday. Usually we just let the fetus lie on the ground and rot, but if it happens inside, we go out to bury it. Charles didn?t do that this time. He picked up the bloody corpse of a half-formed dog, put it in his arms like a newborn and gently rocked it, while singing a lullaby. He asked me why the baby hadn?t cried when it was born. If it was okay. When I told him it was stillborn he lost it. He hit me, hard across the face, called me a bitch and a *****, who couldn?t provide him his baby. That he was gonna make me try again.
He?s threatening me now, with words and our chef?s knife. His eyes are bulging. and he has torn all of my shirts to shreds. He?s always yelling. Yelling at me that tonight, when I?m sleeping, he?ll gut me like a fish, slice up my stomach and place the baby in its rightful home, and then I can carry his baby to term, like a real wife would.
Right now, he?s singing a lullaby to the fetus in the next room over. He brought the old crib down from the attic. The smell of a dead, slowly rotting dog in our children?s first home. He?s coming to bed after that. I don?t want to sleep. But I have an autoimmune disorder and it makes me so very tired. My daughter is coming with food tomorrow. I don?t want her to find me dead and gutted up here. But my eyes are closing. My arms are heavy. My stomach is bare, and his lullaby is shrill and erratic. My eyes are closing. My arms are heavy. God be with me.


Source.