Stockholm Syndrome

They were killing her, those three. They made her their slave. She was such a compassionate woman. She would give and give until she simply gave out.

I saw the stress and strain wearing on her. She would worry about one of those three for a while, then just as she stopped worrying another would cause her grief. They never gave her a break. She was up at all hours of the night caring for their every need.

Her hair had thinned and grayed. She had bags under her eyes. She hardly had time to eat a proper meal and she never dolled herself up anymore. Her smile was forced, her conversations with outside people truncated early. There wasn’t time for her to enjoy life.

I realized she would thank me later for helping her, once she stopped crying and keening. I didn’t understand why she mourned them so much when I had just saved her life. She should be thanking me from releasing her from the prison they made of her own home.

Instead she has me arrested for murdering her captors!

They were ugly babies, anyway.

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