His comment caught me off guard. I raised my eyes. Not to his eyes, but rather to the line of his jaw. As girls we were taught this was the appropriate place to look at an interested man when speaking with him. The eyes were much too personal. As my husband, Andrew was an interested man.

“I am your husband.” His tone was gentle.

I shifted my eyes to his. They were light brown, flecks of darker brown patterned throughout. I lowered my gaze again, unnerved by the extended eye contact.

“I had hoped that after five months you would feel more comfortable with me,” he said.

I felt a stab of guilt. I had been a horrible wife. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You’re safe here with me. I care for you.”

His words should have warmed my chest, but they made me uneasy. At times I thought it would be easier if he disliked me. That would be something I could deal with. But my failure to return his affection only filled me with more guilt.

“I was worried about you,” he continued. “Terrified for you.” He cleared his throat and picked up his fork. “I will continue to pray for your brother’s swift recovery.”

“Thank you.”

“Please remember that you can always come to me. I’ll never turn my back on you.”

“That’s kind of you.” Far kinder than I deserved.

Those were the last words spoken at the dinner table.

That night I joined Andrew in his bed as expected. But he knew I was in shame, and he made no attempt to touch me. Even in that he was being the best husband he knew to be.

Or maybe his apparent disinterest in me was the result of his cramping gut and repeated visits to the toilet. Either way, I had to find a way to feel differently about him. One day I would be carrying his child.

ROSE STOOD IN THE BASEMENT UNDERNEATH HAVEN Valley’s Chapel, drawing deep breaths of anticipation. Soon. Any moment now.

As the daughter of a conservative minister, she’d grown up in churches with basements and sanctuaries similar to this one. Her experience with the church had turned ugly when a brutal man, sick with power, stole her innocence and replaced it with terror.

That man was her father, though he made his children call him Pastor. Unlike other clergy who were kind and gentle, her father was a beast who only taught about the dangers of sin and the hell that awaited those unwilling to repent from their wickedness. Naturally, he expected perfection from his children.