Chapter 10
TEN
TORI
Past
The sun is setting behind the Rocky Mountains, casting a warm, golden light over the valley.
The crisp air carries the familiar scent of pine and earth, mixing with the soft hum of cicadas.
Shadows stretch long and thin across the ground, the evening light painting the peaks in hues of amber and crimson.
I’m sitting on the porch swing with Mom, the wooden slats creaking gently beneath us as we sway back and forth.
The soft rustle of leaves in the breeze is almost hypnotic, a soothing melody against the backdrop of nature's orchestra.
Normally, this view calms me, but today, the beauty of Moraine feels like a cruel contrast to the chaos inside me.
I came to my parents’ house for dinner while Chase is on a work trip, partly because I wanted a distraction from the thoughts in my head and the growing discontentment I feel with my marriage, and partly because I need advice.
Dad has always been a bit of an asshole and Mom doesn’t seem affected by it.
I don’t know if that’s because she is blind to how demeaning he is when he speaks to her or if she knows some secret I don’t about how to maintain a happy marriage.
Is she happy, though?
I shake the thought. Of course, she’s happy. I know her. She’s my mother. I can trust her. I can talk to her. I don’t have to keep bottling this up inside myself, constantly worried that I’m making a big deal out of nothing. This is something. This is a problem. This needs to be addressed.
The swing sways gently, the old chains groaning under our weight as the evening sky deepens to a rich lavender. Crickets join the cicadas, their rhythmic chirping creating a soft, pulsing background. “Mom,” I start, taking another breath before continuing, “are you happy?”
That is not what I meant to ask, but I’ll roll with it.
She looks at me, and for a millisecond I swear I see something hollow in her eyes, but it’s gone and replaced with the serene smile I know and love before I can think too much into it.
Her face is lit by the soft glow of the setting sun, which catches the faint lines around her eyes, hinting at years of quiet endurance.
“Of course, I am, honey. Why would you ask?”
Here goes nothing.
“Because I’m not.” Again, not what I meant to say. Is it the truth? Yes. I had simply planned on offering that truth with more finesse.
Her brow furrows, concern evident in her eyes.
Mom slides her hand over mine and squeezes gently, a physical sign of reassurance that this is a safe space.
The warmth of her hand contrasts with the cool evening air, which seems to whisper around us, carrying with it the scent of distant rain and fresh grass.
She’s always been a safe space for me, for everyone. I can talk to her. She can help.
I’m thankful she doesn’t press, just continues holding my hand while I gather my thoughts.
“I mean, I’m happy sometimes. But not… not in the most important aspects of my life.” You know, for someone with such a high IQ and strong conversational skills, I’m doing a shit job of explaining myself right now.
“Such as…” she prompts. I shrug, suddenly nervous to say this out loud. I’ve never admitted these feelings to anyone, and while I know I can tell my mom anything, this suddenly feels different. Dark. Wrong, somehow.
The breeze picks up slightly, brushing against my skin like a whisper, as if the world itself is listening. The wind chimes hanging on the porch tinkle softly, a delicate, almost mournful sound.
“At home. I’m not happy at home. With Chase.
With my marriage. I’m not happy when I come home from work, when he comes home from softball practice, when we have to ride in the same car to go somewhere.
Basically, the only time I’m happy is when I’m not with him.
” There. I said it. I am not happy in my marriage.
I do not want to be in my marriage. Nope.
Can’t say that. Don’t go there. Let’s focus on happiness, not leaving.
I continue, the words spilling from my mouth without a filter. Get it out. Get it all out.
“Mom, I don’t know what to do. Chase… he’s just so unhappy all the time.
I study him, I know his favorite foods and his favorite movies and how he likes his pants folded and shirts hung and no matter what I do, it’s never enough.
I can’t do anything right, and it’s gotten to the point that I don’t even want to be around him, let alone talk to him.
I can’t talk to him. It doesn’t matter what I say—it’s wrong or he dismisses it or he makes some backhanded comment to make me feel like shit.
I read books about how to be a godly woman and a good wife and I do literally everything they say, and nothing changes.
I’m tired, Mom. So, fucking, tired. Tired of trying to be exactly who I’m supposed to be and then being treated like I’m not enough.
Tired of trying to connect with someone who clearly doesn’t want me.
I’m not happy, and goddammit I’m so tired of not being happy.
” Holy crap did I just say that? Out loud?
The golden glow of the sun is fading now, the horizon bruising into deep purples and blues.
The valley below seems to exhale a soft mist, the cooling air wrapping itself around us.
Mom turns to me, her eyes full of concern, but there’s something else there, too—something that tells me she’s about to give me the kind of advice I’m not sure I want to hear.
She rubs her thumb over the back of my hand, and I brace myself.
“Tori, marriage is hard,” she begins, her voice soft but firm.
The sound of her words seems to blend with the creak of the porch swing and the distant hum of a car on the winding road below.
No shit, Sherlock. I hold back my eyeroll, determined to hear her out.
“It is a sacred covenant, a commitment you made before God. It’s not about happiness, sweetheart.
It’s about holiness. Remember, the Bible tells us that marriage isn’t meant to make us happy—it’s meant to make us holy. ”
The twilight deepens, and the first stars begin to peek through the darkening sky.
The air cools, brushing against my skin with a faint chill, and I fold my arms across my chest instinctively.
I feel my stomach drop, but she continues, her voice steady.
“I know you’re struggling, and I know it’s hard when it feels like you’re the only one trying.
But God calls us to be patient, to endure, and to submit to our husbands as unto the Lord.
Have you thought about how you can serve Chase better?
How you can love him more deeply, even when it’s difficult? ”
She pauses, searching my face, and I’m too stunned to respond.
“Sometimes, when we feel like our efforts aren’t enough, it’s because we’re focusing too much on ourselves and not enough on God’s will for our marriage.
Maybe instead of focusing on your happiness, you should be asking how you can bring glory to God in your marriage.
Pray for Chase, Tori. Pray for his heart to soften, for his burdens to be lifted.
And pray for your own heart, that you might find joy in serving him, even when it’s hard. ”
The words feel like stones being stacked on my chest, each one heavier than the last. I can feel the tears welling up, but I fight them back, not wanting her to see how much her words are cutting me.
She squeezes my hand, mistaking my silence for agreement.
The shadows of the trees stretch further across the porch as the last light fades from the sky, and I feel enveloped by the growing darkness.
“Remember, dear, we can’t control other people’s actions, but we can control our own.
Focus on being the best wife you can be, and trust God to do the rest. The Lord never gives us more than we can handle, and He will use this trial to strengthen your faith and refine you into the woman He wants you to be. ”
Does the Bible really say that? I’m fairly certain the whole “God never gives you more than you can handle” line is utter bullshit, twisted into some kind of inspirational platitude people use to justify suffering.
She leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
The faint scent of her lavender lotion drifts toward me, a nostalgic but suffocating reminder of childhood comfort.
“And sometimes, Tori, the enemy will use these feelings of discontent to try to pull you away from God’s plan.
Don’t let him win. Fight for your marriage with prayer and humility.
God honors those who remain faithful, even when it’s hard. ”
The porch light flickers to life above us, casting a harsh, yellow glow that feels stark and unwelcome against the gentle fading colors of the sky.
I nod mechanically, my mind spinning with everything she’s just said.
The weight on my shoulders feels heavier than ever, and I can’t help but wonder if this is really what God wants for me—to be trapped in a marriage that drains the life out of me, with no hope of change.
A light breeze picks up, rustling the trees and sending a shiver through me. The night smells fresh, but it’s cold and uninviting, a sharp contrast to the warmth I once found here.
And what about what I want? I’m tired of being trampled on all the time.
Tired of reading and studying and serving and submitting.
Tired of deferring and staying silent to keep the peace.
Tired of being no one, when I know that I’m someone.
Tired of being praised at work for a job well done, only to come home and feel the opposite.
I can’t share my victories with him. I can’t share my heart with him.
Fucking hell, I can barely share my body with him.
Not that he cares what I want. As long as he comes, all is well in Chase land.
Until it happens again. The negative pregnancy tests. They always happen. Every. Single. Month. For the past seven years.
I don’t know why I still take them. I know what they’ll say. But Chase insists. He wants to see the evidence that once again he has failed to impregnate me.
I don’t know why he does this emotional self-flagellation. It doesn’t help anything. I’ve tried to help him focus on our marriage, on our relationship. To stop worrying so much about what we don’t have and instead celebrate what we do. It doesn’t matter.
He can’t hear me—or he won’t, rather.
The cicadas’ hum swells around us, their unrelenting rhythm amplifying the silence between me and Mom.
But I keep those thoughts to myself, forcing a weak smile as Mom gives my hand one last squeeze.
This is not at all how I had hoped this conversation would play out.
Instead of feeling safe and seen by the one person on this planet who loves me unconditionally, it’s as if my feelings don’t matter to her, to God, to anyone, really.
The mountains, now nothing more than blackened silhouettes etched against the star-speckled sky, seem to mock me with their stoic majesty—unyielding and indifferent, just like my marriage.
They stand as silent witnesses to the dreams I once had of a happy life with the man I thought I loved, dreams now twisted into something hollow and cruel.
The chill deepens, sinking into my skin, and the wooden slats beneath me grow harder, less forgiving, as though everything around me is conspiring to remind me of how far I’ve fallen.
Are you there, God? It’s me, Victoria. Do you care, God? About anyone other than yourself and your fucking rules? Is this what your will is for my life? Suffering and oppression in a marriage to a man who is too selfish and broken to see anything beyond his own pain?
Fuck that. And fuck you. And fuck your rules. And fuck your holiness. And fuck my mother. And fuck Chase. And fuck infertility.
Fuck it all.