Wow.

I am amazed and stunned by the talent you demonstrate in this peice. I'm simultaneously horrified by the subject matter. The way you selectively use relevant details in the moment of action illuminate the second by second terror of the poor woman. This piece is emotionally abusing: only now in the fourth sentence of this critique have I shuddered out the last bits of raw terror that comes with the consumption of your excellent work.

So many laments come with this work. Why was he like this? Is redemption possible? Can she find a way out? This could be a full novel, just providing the backstory for this singular occurance. I've got faith and confidence that you could pull it off.

Warmest Regards,

B

Wow...I'm stunned by the explosive force of this piece.  You have really captured the horror of violence, and the helplessness of the victim.  Michael is almost a machine in his unbending cruelty, and Theresa is so broken, so utterly dead inside...much like the little girl who died inside her.

A couple of lines that I really liked:

She had mopped up her own blood with it countless times, but could always bleach it clean.

You do a great job of tying the details of your descriptions in with the one unbreakable law of being a good housewife, even to the extent of mopping up your own viciously spilled blood with a pristine white apron.  How numb must she be, to matter-of-factly consider the best means to clean the stained garment and its horrifying memories?

Theresa had stumbled over this phrase, this commandment only once.

Michael does, indeed seem god-like in his wrath, and I think "commandment" was a great choice of words here.

poisoning the ice tea

Hmm...seems like that just might be a good idea.  Has she ever considered it?  Or does the fact that the "poison" is her own blood indicate that she has sacrificed herself so much that she sees no other way out?

I really, really love this piece, as hard as it was to read.  I do have a couple of suggestions to make it even smoother:

Had she not learned by now that every action, every word, every thought, must be first carefully examined as though a detonator to the explosive bomb that was her husband?

I wonder if this might not read better if you said, "...must first be carefully examined, as though it might detonate the explosive bomb she had married."  Or something like that.

After twelve years, how damaged must she be not to pick up on how sensitive Michael’s trigger was?

 ‘Pretty damaged.’ She answered herself. ‘And that’s what I am. Pretty god damn damaged.’

These lines really do well reinforcing how broken her spirit and body are.  I think, though, I'd like to see the word "damaged" a little more sparingly--it has a great impact, and probably doesn't need to be repeated.

but sometimes the more deluded, grandeur part of Theresa’s brain thought that maybe just once Michael would let her off.

I'm not sure if I understand the context of the word "grandeur" here.  It usually refers to something majestic, something impressive in a grand, sweeping way.  Or maybe I'm just not catching your meaning.

Theresa’s heart pounded at the realization she couldn’t feel Michael’s under her fingertips that were crushed against his broad chest.

It feels a little as though a word has been left out after "Michael's" here.  I reread it and figured out that you were saying she couldn't feel Michael's heart--perhaps suggesting that he doesn't have one?--but this may need to be reworded slightly to make it flow better.

Theresa’s nose gushed forth red sticky liquid, poisoning the ice tea still lying in a puddle with cloudy swirls of blood. Theresa cried out, hearing a crunch.

Again, I really love the image of the blood poisoning the ice tea.  How about restructuring these two sentences, something like:

       "Theresa cried out, hearing a crunch.  Her nose gushed forth red sticky liquid, poisoning the puddle of   iced tea with cloudy swirls of blood."

Overall, you've just done an incredible job  of conveying someone's very real nightmare.  The ghost of that lost little girl seems to hover over the pair of them in mute condemnation, Michael for his brutish cruelty, and Theresa for her helplessness to protect her baby.  I'll have disturbing dreams about this, I think.

Many, many kudos.  You have a razor-sharp talent, and I can't wait to read more of your work!

Lee

 By God I hope this isn't even loosely based in reality for you.  I know it is for far too many women in this world.  Stories like this are hard to read, much less contemplate.  This needed to be written.  For bringing this to attention, I thank you.

There were a few things I saw which I think may slightly improve this story.  

First, try and cut out any adverbs, like angrily in the second sentence.

Second, I saw some awkward sentences that could be smoothed out.

Theresa’s nose gushed forth red sticky liquid, poisoning the ice tea still lying in a puddle with cloudy swirls of blood.

This one seemed a little funny.  The red sticky liquid metaphor didn't look right just before cloudy swirls of blood.

You had more than a few sentences which I thought were fantastic.  Like:

Baby girls died when people were smart-asses in Michael’s house.

This was both beautiful and haunting.  I loved how it tied together this moment with an earlier one.

Other than those few things, I thought this was a fantastic story, with a powerful message.  Thanks for sharing.

Wow this was an amazing piece! It may be gruesome, but that is kind of the point. You do such a wonderful job of portraying the feeling and showing us that world. Thank you for writing this, please don't rewrite it! It's amazing to think how we become poisoned. Theresa was poisoned into believing she was a bad housewife and knew how to be a proper housewife. It's hard to think that this is happening around us all the time, it's just one of those things we don't think about.  Anyways great work, just a few spots i had some comments on.

“Bitch!” Michael Youth exclaimed angrily as a dark stain spread across his pant leg.

This definitely got my attention. Great way to draw the read in.

Theresa liked it because it was white. She had mopped up her own blood with it countless times, but could always bleach it clean. She could bleach all the stains away. All the memories.

The pure white cooking apron can always be bleached..like the memories can be bleached away, or the bruises covered with makeup. I really liked this part of the story.

trailing downwards to pluck at her nipple through the fabric until it involuntarily hardened.

I kind of expected him to force himself on her at this point in the story. You don't really use this detail at all, and I'm not sure if it fits without further detail.

He thrust her head into the liquid as one might do to a puppy to house-break them.

This sentence doesn't flow right to me. I did see where you where going with it in the previous sentence and I think it is a good connection, but it could be worded differently.

Faces weren’t as easily hidden by dark Oakley sunglasses and cover-up like they made it seem in the movies.

Oakleys don't seem like a realistic sunglasses brand for a perfect housewife. The reader doesn't know how old she is, but she has china on the table and a white apron that she uses while cooking her husband dinner. She has attempted to have children a few times. This woman would probably not be the target audience for Oakley sunglasses.

Great work with this piece. I look forward to reading more of your work.