About the Character (Anita Harrison)

Anita, the pastor’s wife, lives in a fantasy world created by her husband. She is a character in his life’s script, and he is the director, and the producer. Essentially, he tells her what to wear, how to speak, where to go, and how to feel. Then, every day she walks onto his stage and presents a command performance worthy of a standing ovation. However, unlike the theater, the action is real; the beatings are real, the blood is real, and her fear is real. Although, Anita is cognizant of her situation and understands how tragic it is, she lives with a secret, which she believes is more brutal than his beatings.

Excerpt: As the Pastor’s wife, I became a character in his life’s script. I lost my identity and my name. Most people called me the Pastor’s wife; not woman, or friend, or even Anita, just the Pastor’s wife. Living up to the standards of that label was a difficult task. Everyone had their expectations of me. Essentially, they told me what to wear, how to speak, where to go, and how to feel. Every day I walked onto his life’s stage and presented a command performance worthy of a standing ovation, and in time, I owned my character’s persona. Eventually, I knew her better than I knew myself.

Excerpt: I played the role of the perfect Christian. I made the righteous decisions, spoke the right words, wore the correct attire, and always displayed the appropriate attitude. Every sister idolized me but none of them befriended me, and although a congregation of people surrounded me, most of the time I felt alone.

 Excerpt: He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. His embrace burned, like a blanket of fire. I finally buried my face into his chest and sobbed. The tears were my saving grace; a fire extinguisher that sometimes worked.

Excerpt: My heart raced and sweat flowed from my pores, like water. I stood in the middle of the living room and waited for someone to say something. My father walked into the room and sat down in his brown recliner. He failed to acknowledge me, and his rejection crushed my spirit. In the car on the way home, my mother described his love for me as an everlasting and unbreakable passion. She said, “You’re his little girl and fathers always love their little girls.” Although, I hoped it was the truth, I had heard the disgust and hatred in his voice, and I knew that my father would never love Satan. He would never allow the devil to enter his soul.