I sit by the window, wondering briefly why I am crying. The unfamiliar weight of my stomach bears down, causing me to shift constantly. He is not around; probably in a meeting or dealing out some harsh punishment against someone who crossed him. I guess I am lucky in that I have never suffered his wrath. I have witnessed him do things I had not thought possible of a person. Sometimes, I have thought upon whether he was human or not. It has been fifteen years since I have first met him; almost twelve since we married. I was quite naive, and only fifteen. He was eighteen, and quite successful already. I did not know what business he was into, only that he was charming to a fault and that he treated me well. I was from a high society family where I was a 'trophy daughter', meaning I was well-ignored. He paid attention to me, quite closely in fact. By the time I was eighteen, he had established a business (a business I did not know of what until a year after that), and proposed to me. My parents were typically happy, but more happy that I was no longer their responsibility. Marriage at first terrified me, it was like going from my parents to another caretaker. He hovered over me, it seemed, and I began to feel like property to him. For a year I said nothing, and he did not take notice of my coldness, of the fact that I did not even want him to touch me. It became like he did not even care. On our first anniversary, he presented me with two gifts, both wrapped. One was a set of divorce papers, and the other was a dozen blood-red roses and a key. I cried horribly then. He explained gently as I knelt on the floor that he knew I was not happy and I was free to go; or I could stay and we could work on it. He did not want me to leave, but if I was to stay, I was to stay for life. Five years later, it would not be this easy. At the time, I did not know the depth of what he meant. I took the roses and the key. The key was to his new office building, and our new home. It was a training gym, but I found out much later as he entrusted me with more and more knowledge, that it was much more. There were labs entrenched underground, pokemon cellars where all of the stolen pokemon were kept, and other places; places where those who did not please him were kept, but not for very long of a time. But he never failed to treat me like a queen. I wanted for nothing, and I was free to pursue anything I wanted, so long as I cleared it with him. This did not botherme at first, but after a couple of years, it began to wear thin. We only fought once on this. It was a horrible fight, and it was a side he had never turned toward me. I had gone, screaming at him, from the front doors of the gym, and he had walked calmly after me. With no words, he had wrapped his hand firmly in my waist-length hair and dragged me back in. He threw me into the corner of our bedroom and had sat in his chair by the window. He said nothing to me. I still don't know whether it was out of fear or maybe some part of me had grown to love him that I crawled over to him and cried my apology. He did not look smug at all when he took me in his arms then and spoke softly to me. I guess this was the only way he could express love. Years went by and our tenth anniversary had come. He had taken me to a house on the coast. He presented me with two gifts again. One was a key, and the other was a ring box. He explained that I could no longer divorce him and go of my free will, there was just no way he could allow that; but if I wished, he would let me live my life in a secluded house in the mountains, well guarded of course. The ring box held a gold band, engraved simply with the words 'to the woman I will love eternally'. I must have paled because he laid them on the table and walked away. I never knew what he was thinking and I never will. I don't ask him questions. He is just not a man you ask questions of. He has taken care of me and shown me as much love as he is capable of. He visible goes out of his way to please me and sometimes I feel very selfish that I fear him and I still feel awkward near him. I took the ring and walked outside. Pushing aside all of my fears and anxiety, I had wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned my head against his chest. There was warmth in the way he looked at me then, and we made love ont he beach that night. After ten years, I briefly felt like a family. Once back home, the feeling left. I stared at the band I wore around my finger and cried often. The brief feeling I had had had scarred me now. I wanted a family, or at least I wanted that warmth. I wanted normality. He found me crying on the floor of our bedroom one night. He had come upstairs early. Normally, I would be reading a book or some menial activity like that. I had not watched the time and had fallen into despair, clawing at the carpet and sobbing uncontrollably. He had shown true concern. He had gathered me up and rocked me in his lap until I had calmed. He only wanted to know what was wrong. I began to speak in a cracked voice. I talked endlessly, spilling my anguish and anxiety into the darkening room. He listened and said nothing. I told him of my desire for normalcy, for a family, for warmth. I even blurted out my fear for him. He did not crucify me as I had often thought he would. He gently held me and stroked my hair, causing me to fall asleep. When I woke later, he was still holding me, and hadn't left as I thought he would. He said nothing, only shushed me and let me fall back to sleep. He did not broach the subject of anything I said but three weeks later, he brought me to a doctor. I said nothing and the doctor set to performing tests. I had surgery a week later and after several months, I was told I was fertile and would be able to successfully and safely bear children. I did not have many feelings on this, but I began to feel almost like one of his lab experiments, but as I always did, I said nothing. I sometimes wonder if I am simply wrong in treating him the way I do, or if there is something wrong with me. There were many nights I fought to try and treat him the way I knew he wanted me to, but always felt afraid in touching him. He would approach me and I would act my part of wife. There was always an eerie silence pervading the act. He was gentle, and considerate, but I could never make a sound. I would sometimes shake afterwards, and he would hold me. I feared him, and he knew it. And after all he had done, there was nothing he could do to change that. He ruled possible the most powerful organization of the known world. leaders bowed to him in fear. Why would I not do the same? I had seen him ruthlessly gut persons who had crossed him. He had given orders to have innocents savagely murdered for the sake of whatever his cause was. I would lay beneath him and try to concentrate on his love for me while I shudder in fear of displeasing him. I became pregnant, and I told him while we ate lunch in his office. I must have looked terrified because he had dropped his knife and nearly jumped from behind his desk, pulling me into his arms and smiling. He had told me he loved me dearly and he was very happy. That had helped. He has done everything in his power to make me comfortable, and the pregnancy has not been easy. I am so uncomfortable, and I cannot sleep at all. He will stay up with me, and walk with me amongst the grounds, but nothing has helped. It is now my seventh month, and I sit here, exhausted and worn. I worry constantly. I do not worry about the health of the child, or what to name him or her. I do not worry about the things that most expecting parents worry about. I worry about bringing our child into the world and having him raise our child in his image. I worry about our child growing up and learning to not respect life; to learn how to savagely murder people; to be like his father. I worry about this constantly, but I will not speak of this to him. It is not a topic I can bring myself to say. I look over at him and I realize that I could have it much worse. I have a husband that fawns over me, that adores me, that loves me and is eternally faithful to me. But this is not comforting. I recognize all of the facts; but I also have a husband who is horribly cruel, a murderer, a thief, a tyrant. I steal a glance at him and then look away, to the large bay windows I sit beneath. He is beautiful, but there is a hideousness beneath that will always terrify me; and I live in constant fear that our child will be the same way. I will fight that, but my spirit has been long broken.