Kicking Dreams by L. Duarte

Back to when I paired my dolls and walked them down an imaginary aisle, I had a dream. With my husband by my side and the scent of petunias filling the air, we would rock ourselves on a wicker swing, watching the sun dip below the mountains. The laughter of our two—or five children filling the air as they chased and caught fireflies. Yes, the dream was simple but it was mine. Then, I met him. We married, not for love, but because he won me in a hand of poker. Alluring, mysterious, and sinfully handsome, I was drawn into his web despite all of his darkness. I fell in love and thought it would be enough. I should have known better.