Diary of a Mad First Lady Read Free Page A

really busy lately, and maybe you’re right; we haven’t spent much time together. But, baby—”
    “Don’t ‘but baby’ me. I’m tired of the excuses. I’ve been patient. I knew when I married you that things wouldn’t be as they are in normal relationships, but I didn’t sign up for this. I don’t care who it is; if you don’t spend time with your spouse, your marriage will be doomed.” I moved away from his touch. “Either we start spending time together, or we’re headed for disaster.”
    “What do you want me to do?” he asked in the tone he used when he was frustrated.
    “I don’t want you to do anything. I only want you to be my husband. Whatever that means to you,” I said.
    I turned and walked to my car. As I drove away, I saw that Darvin was still standing frozen in the spot I’d left him. So many thoughts were racing for first place in my mind. This situation with Daphne had certainly taken its toll on me, and ultimately, our marriage. God only knew if we would ever be able to fully recover from it. I knew I’d probably overreacted, but I didn’t care right now. After more than a year of battling with the psychotic behavior of Daphne, it was a wonder anyone knew how to act properly.
    I hated the day that I had ever allowed her in my home. In my life. In my husband’s life. Who could truly blame her for being infatuated with Darvin? After all, I married him. He was a good man—sometimes too good—and it always seemed that some other woman was after him.
    But Daphne had taken it too far. Her tactics had gone well beyond the point of admiration and had turned into obsession. Pretending to be Darvin’s wife was the final straw. Little did we know this floozy had established her entire life as Mrs. Darvin Johnson. How stupid.
    My head ached with the force of a volcano eruption thinking about all that had transpired over the past couple of years. Darvin was right; it was time for me to start moving beyond the past and focus on Michelle.

Chapter One
    Michelle
     
     
    Two years later
    I awakened to the rays of sunshine peeking through the bay windows in my bedroom. Had it not been for the rumbling in my stomach, I would have dived deeper into the sheets, even after my alarm clock went off. But the fight going on in my stomach suggested that I better get up before what little was in it came out. This first trimester of pregnancy had been a good one, but every morning I woke up, I felt as though I had not eaten in ages.
    I swung my legs over the side of the bed, put my feet in my fluffy hot pink slippers, grabbed the matching pink terrycloth robe that was resting on my chaise, and headed to the kitchen. On my way out of the room, I noticed my husband’s empty spot in the bed. Since finding out that I was pregnant, I was no longer able to drag myself out of bed in time to attend the early morning service, and every Sunday at 6:30 A . M . , my husband, Darvin Johnson, left the house to go and preach the 7:00 A . M . service.
    I pulled open the door to the refrigerator to determine what I would eat. The pineapples and strawberries looked appetizing, but this morning I needed something more than fruit. Being just four months along, I was beginning to show a bulge in my stomach. If I weren’t pregnant, I would have rebuked the thought of what was to come next in hopes of getting rid of the “pooch”; but under the circumstances, I decided on beef sausage, two eggs, cheese grits, wheat toast, and some Cran-Grape juice. As I prepared my food, my stomach began dancing from the anticipation of what was to come. Both my stomach and I knew that my hunger troubles were about to be over.
    As I sat at the breakfast nook of our kitchen with the plantation shutters open wide, I took in all that God had blessed me with on this beautiful Sunday morning. I hurried to finish eating because it was nearing time for me to start getting dressed. Because I missed going to the first service so often, I was never late