Damn it! Does God hate me? How much more does he expect me to take? I stare at the limbs and broken glass that just showered over the baby’s bed. One of the branches crashed against the bassinet and crushed in the top. I was going to use that to put her in my room at night… I start to cry. I can’t stop my tears, and I hate crying. I’ve spent so much time crying, and doing so is a big reinforcement that I’m weak. That’s not the feeling I want to teach my daughter. It’s not a feeling I ever want Maggie to feel.

For her part, Maggie picks this moment to kick me—hard. That feels like her telling me enough is enough and really, it is. It’s more than enough. I will not let some fucking tree be what breaks me after all the shit that I’ve endured up to this point in my life. This tree will not rob my daughter! With that thought and little else, I throw on my hand-me-down yellow raincoat. That was smart, well the smartest thing about this whole endeavor. Then, I push my feet into the nearest available shoes and march to the door with only one thing on my mind. Revenge.

My first stop is the old rickety shed at the end of my yard. The rain is pouring down, and it might have been a little smarter (as if anything about this could be) had I stopped to grab a flashlight. Luckily, (if it doesn’t strike me) lightning keeps flashing and helps shine my way through the dark. In the shed, there’s an old chainsaw. I found it here along with some other tools after I moved in. I never got rid of any of it, and now I’m glad for that.

I’ve never started a chainsaw in my life, but it has to be kind of like a lawnmower, right? The task sure seems a lot harder than I imagined. After the sixth time (okay probably closer to ten) of trying to start the damn thing, my arm is tired, and the fire inside of me is starting to subside. I decide to try one more time, and by a miracle of miracles, it actually works. I somehow manage to find the throttle and press the lever. Instantly, the motor cranks up. I keep my finger there, gunning it gently. Then, I walk back towards the house and that damn tree.

The chainsaw is heavier than I planned for and that along with the rain tries to exhaust me, but I must do this. I will not get pushed around anymore. I’m not going to stop until I prove that not only to myself, but my daughter. I bring the bar of the chainsaw down on the tree. Sawdust instantly gets thrown out everywhere. I feel a moment of elation, but in reality, I only manage to get the blade about an inch inside the tree when it stops cutting. I pull it out and start again. Apparently, the chain is so dull that I’m going to have to do this in slow increments. I don’t care. I’m doing it and that’s all that matters.

It’s raining so hard I can’t see, even with the lightning. Everything is blurry, because water is pouring down my face, interfering with my vision. The sound of the chainsaw, the pounding of the rain, and the thunder all combine to be so loud I hear nothing. Add all of that to the fact that I’m completely engrossed in what I’m doing, and I don’t hear or notice anything around me. So, when this giant bear behind me growls out, I scream like a little girl.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Michael yells through the noise, and I scream. Okay, it isn’t a bear. But he’s hairy and mean enough to be one.

I jerk around to face him, pulling the heavy chainsaw with me. Only, I forget to let off the throttle, and in my fear actually press harder. I hold the chainsaw in front of me like a weapon, wielding it like I’m Hercules lifting a sword. This probably isn’t a smart move, because it’s really heavy, and my arms are so tired that it begins to tip back towards my chest and face. I lean my body back to get away from the weapon, adrenaline making my body shake. I admit the smarter thing would have been to let off the throttle, or to at least pull my arm forward, but I’m kind of in a panic. I also pee a little on myself, but I’m blaming that on Maggie. She does like to dance on my bladder.

I scream again when the hand I have on the handle of the chainsaw is grabbed…hard. My first reaction is to fight for control, which lunges the chainsaw toward Michael. I, stupidly, still don’t take my hand off the throttle and instead try to get control of the chainsaw. I don’t know why, except it’s mine, and he looks mean. I don’t think it’d be wise to give it to him.

Okay, maybe that’s a good enough reason.

When I don’t immediately turn loose, he twists my wrist, and the pain spreads instantly from there and up my arm. I cry out, but lose my hold on the chainsaw. He grabs it and physically throws it away from us. It lands ten feet across from us in a large mud puddle—instantly dying. I stare at it. I glance at him. Next, I glare at the hold he has on my wrist. Then, I look at him again. His long hair is loose now. It’s not held back by anything, and the rain has drenched him so that beads of water cling to his face and neck. His long beard reflects the same state and there are droplets of water running from the burly hair.

Lightning chooses this moment to blast through the sky, highlighting his face. I blink against the rain, thinking what I just witnessed can’t be true, and jumping as the sound of thunder rolls around us. Mother Nature in her infinite wisdom, chooses this moment to unleash another large flash of lightning. I think Mother Nature might just be a bitch, because now I can see clearly. My captor’s face is revealed in the stark light. His dark eyes are looking down at me, and I swear it appears as though liquid hate is rolling off him and pouring into me. The stark scars on his face are menacing with so much anger held on his face, and right before we’re plunged back into darkness, an image of Jack Nicholson from the movie, The Shining comes to mind. I jerk my hand to get it free.

He refuses to let go.

I try again, with the same result.

Finally, after all this, I do what any sane woman would do under similar circumstances.

I faint.