Leslie married a man who turned out to be a narcissist. She had a baby with him before she figured it out.
Leslie divorced that guy and a few years later fell in love with a man she had worked with for almost a decade. He was charming, fun, and flirty. That all ended the day after the wedding. Her husband had her locked down as his wife, so no more effort was needed. To the outside world, he was a doll. To her, not so much. It was all about him.
Leslie had two babies – boom, boom — two years in a row before she felt the déjà vu of her fist marriage in her second.
As the years went by, and Leslie’s personality disappeared as she got sucked down deeper and deeper into the pit of being with a self-centered SOB, she asked herself, How will I ever get out of this with two little ones and a teenager?
Then the second husband solved her problem for her. It turned out he had been molesting the older daughter (his stepdaughter) for seven years. When the daughter finally told a friend and the friend told her mother, and the mother told Leslie, you can imagine the horror of that realization. Her narcissist husband was a pedophile, and his victim was her child!
Leslie is happy to report that the guy is in jail for a very long time, and that she is free from what turned out to be a situation far worse than what she’d thought.
Leslie is getting her personality back. Her teen-aged daughter is recovering from her abuse. The younger kids are doing fine. Leslie is trying to figure out how to stay in her expensive state of California.
Write her memoir, perhaps? I, for one, would read it.
Couldda Wouldda Shouldda
Forget about it. No other possible outcome is acceptable.