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A moth was trapped within the light fixture, desperately trying to free itself. Loretta stood on tiptoe and unscrewed the tulip-shaped globe. The moth flittered out. Loretta replaced the globe and then gazed at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, staring herself in the eye. “Don’t be shrill. Be calm. Don’t talk about politics, or the news, or God or the Bible,” she murmured. “And smile.”
Belief systems and religious philosophies tend to be circular—or like an ouroboros, a snake eating its own tail. Human beings have always longed to connect with the spirit realm. That longing can take on many forms.”
The domestic monotony had her skin crawling with anxiety.
But she’d let him take everything over the years, in the name of security. Her education. Her books. The car. Her freedom.
What if? What if she could write herself out of one life and into another?
It was dead. Loretta’s heart panged in sympathy. In solidarity. The moth had only wanted out—had felt just as trapped as she did now.
All he’d ever wanted was his dad’s approval, and now he had it. The thought should have made Loretta happy. Instead, it horrified her.
She’d settled and bargained with the denial of her own desires—her body her only currency in a marriage to a man who seemed to resent her very presence most days.
