Diary of a Mad First Lady by Dishan Washington

diamonds flanked her neck as if they belonged there, and my grandmother’s earrings clung to her ears as if she were the owner of them. Looking at Daphne Carlton was like looking at my own image. Her makeup was absolutely flawless, and a waft of my perfume, Angel, slid across my nostrils. Her outfit was near perfect, except for the 9mm accessory in her hand.
    “Michelle, lock the door,” she commanded.
    “Daphne . . .”
    “Michelle!” she interrupted. “Stop it! I’m the one doing the talking. Just do what I tell you to do!”
    I turned back to the door. For a split second, I thought of running out, but I knew a bullet would be in my back before I could get two feet. I had to figure out a way to buy myself time.
    “Michelle, I know what you’re doing. And trust me; you’re not going to find a plan to escape engraved in the door, so turn back around,” she demanded.
    I slowly turned around. The slight flutter in my stomach was the reminding force that propelled me. I became like a wild lioness whose sole objective was to protect her cub. The thought of my unborn baby and its safety was enough to develop the strength I needed to conquer this giant.
    “Daphne, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you are not going to get away with it. You will not come into my home and take over while I sit back and watch you do it.”
    Her laughter sounded like something from a horror movie.
    “Michelle, you never cease to amaze me. Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out, you surprise me. You actually have a spine.” She began to walk closer to me. “What am I going to do with you?” She paused and turned serious again, and was now standing directly in my face. “After I kill you.” She grazed the tip of my nose with the gun.
    Those four words were like death to the confidence I possessed moments earlier. The strength that exuded from me minutes before had been drained like a pool at the end of the summer. It never occurred to me that Daphne wanted me dead. Sure, I knew she was crazy and wanted to take over my life—but death? Was she really crazy enough to go through with it? Could this actually be the end of my life?
    The constant flutter in my stomach didn’t have the same effect or purpose that it had the first time. It was my nerves, and they were getting the best of me. I was too afraid to even breathe. Breathing was a sign of hope, a sign of life, and I didn’t feel as if I had either right now.
    “Michelle, go into the living room and sit down on the couch,” Daphne said as she waved the gun.
    I did as she directed, trying desperately to think of a way to get help, but I could hardly think. I surveyed the room, trying to find any logical escape route. I could make a run for the kitchen, but once again I would be gunned down. Along with my baby.
    Tears silently streamed down my face, and a PowerPoint presentation of my otherwise happy life began to flash before eyes. I was 32-years old, pregnant with my first child, happily married to the man of my dreams, living in the home I’d always wanted, and this time tomorrow it would all be over. Just like that. No warning. No nothing.
    You shall live and not die.
    God’s voice came rushing into my ears like waves on the bank of an ocean, and again, I gained strength. I smiled at this small feat of victory. I knew in my heart that this was not my battle. It was the Lord’s, and He would fight it.
    “Are you smiling?” Daphne asked, interrupting my thoughts.
    I turned to face an irritated Daphne, who was hoping to keep her game of scare tactics going. But that was unfortunate, because I felt a peace in my heart that superseded the capability of any weapon. Or any devil.
    “Do you think I’m something to laugh at, Michelle? Do you think I’m some sort of joke?” My silence aggravated her more, and her evil laugh returned. “You know what?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “I see that you’re going to make this difficult. I was