62 Tom's POV

My wife didn't abuse me, she couldn't have abused me, she loved me. Everything she did was for a purpose - to make me a better person/husband/father. It wasn't out of cruelty, or because she was an abuser! She didn't abuse me, it wasn't abuse, it really wasn't abuse.

Like, like when she was shouting at me because of I couldn't come up with a song for Buzz before he was born, she was disappointed in me, and rightly so. I was a song writer for a living, I should have been able to write a song for our son without an issue. She was right to question my ability to be a father, my love for our child, she was right to do it. She was right to be disappointed. It was fine, it was justified, it wasn't abuse, it wasn't abuse.

Getting home, I was hit with memories in every room, memories of her shouting at me, of her pushing me to be better, everything she did. And for most, I had a justification. I fucked up, or did something bad, or failed to do something at all, and she shouted at me, tried to correct me. That was how things worked, that was how we did things. It was our relationship, just because it wasn't like other peoples, didn't mean it wasn't right, didn't mean it was something as horrible as abuse.

I mean, we still... there was affection in there. We used to hug all the time, and kiss, every day. There was affection there, there was always affection. Weren't abusers violent and cold? Didn't they hurt everyone around them, not just one person? Because she only ever lost her temper with me, never with anyone else, especially Buzz. She was always so kind with Buzz, played with him, held him, acted like the perfect mother. She never laid a finger on him, not like that. So she couldn't be abusive, could she? It was just, she was just trying to make me better, that was all, she was trying to make me better. There was nothing wrong with that.

Natasha was wrong, so wrong, my wife loved me, it wasn't abuse.

But, at the same time, I couldn't help but have a little alarm bell in my head, one that had been ringing all week, ever since Natasha brought it up last week... some things didn't feel right, looking back.

Like how she used to turn against me when everyone went home after a dinner party, or some sort of social outing. She'd be smiling and happy, and very affectionate with me, when we were around people. And then we'd go home, and she'd immediately turn, tell me everything I did wrong. The smile would drop instantly, anger taking over. It wasn't disappointment, it was anger, straight away.

But she wouldn't have been able to shout at me in public, that would have caused a scene... but, it was so instant, and she'd turn so quickly. She used to make me apologise for everything. A-And she made me change how I dressed, made me get rid of my 'nerdy' and 'scruffy' clothes, made sure I was always presentable and smart, even when we were alone in the house.

She never let me hold our son either, or play with him, even when he was first born. I wasn't allowed to spend hours cooing over him, or enjoying holding the tiny little life we had created, as soon as we were home from the hospital, she put me to work again, like nothing had changed. She said it was to keep me from screwing him up, to keep our son away from me. And I'd believed her, especially after the song writing thing. But I'd proved to her that I loved our son, throughout the pregnancy. I'd read the books, watched the instructional videos, gone to all the classes. I'd made copious amounts of notes, and done everything I was supposed to do and more, but she still hadn't let me hold him.

In fact, she barely let me do anything with him. I used to have to sneak play time, and cuddle time, and general bonding time, when she was out of the room. That wasn't right, was it? How did she know I was going to be useless, if I hadn't even tried? I was useless at everything else, but what if I'd been good at looking after Buzz? She hadn't let me try, she had taken over, and pushed me out. She pushed me out of everything that wasn't looking after the house, and then still shouted at me for doing as I was told.

The bell was screaming as I thought of it, of all the situations that didn't add up. The times when she refused to let me in, the times she shouted and put me down for the slightest thing, the times she changed the second we were alone.

Could it be possible? Could I have actually been abused?