Oh, how I love Henry Jekyll, and how I hate him at the same time!

Were it not for the love I bear him, and the stunning brightness of our family when we are able to glow in his presence, our destinies would be clear and determined. The fact that I am drawn to him like a rare earth magnet clouds my judgement and obscures my purpose. Just yesterday I was happily considering a return to the home I shared with him and Henry Jr., imagining how joyful it would be to pursue the quality of times we have managed to have together since my leaving. Then I remember, "Oh, no, I can never go back. If ever I return, HE will appear, and will likely be more ferocious than ever."

His voice rings in my ears in the night, shaming me, accusing me of hideous emotional crimes against him and our son, criticizing me for ever wanting anything for myself, tearing down anything that I have built, that I have created, that I have imagined. He turns like a raging wild animal once thought to be tame and takes advantage of every newly-bared vulnerability. I am reduced to nothing more than an infant in the bite of his powerful jaws.

Last night I went home to my small, spare cottage. Alone. Quiet.

Bliss.

I can think clearly there. I can breathe easily there. The tension in my body leaves when I am there.

As much as I adore Dr. Jekyll, I cannot bring myself to commit to him again. As much as he would like to believe it, I know he is not yet in full control of himself.