Page 101 of Choosing Hope

My husband rarely fucks me now, preferring to lay me out carefully, and make slow, romantic love to me. His adoring caress has the power to melt me every time, but the excitement of being chased. The thrill of him catching me and throwing me down to fuck me hard will never grow old.

Later that afternoon, in the back of our town car, I do my best to perfect my makeup, but it’s almost impossible to hide my post-orgasm glow.

“Stop fidgeting; you look beautiful. You always do,” Spencer tells me, with a smirk.

But I know how important this event is to him. In the last few weeks, I’ve learned that these charities are my husband’s passion projects.

Since the initial success of his business, I’ve been aware of Spencer’s support of children’s charities, particularly kids from deprived families. However, I’d assumed it was just something he did for tax relief. Learning that helping these families lights a torch under him was a surprise.

Spencer’s never known what it is to struggle financially. Money always seems to have come easily to him but he’s had plenty of other difficulties. That he is so generously giving back to people less fortunate makes me very proud.

When we arrive, he introduces me to the Trust organizers, a husband and wife, Brendon and Elizabeth James. I’d estimate they’re in their early sixties. Their welcome is warm; they seem delighted to meet me, and I can tell from their interaction with Spencer that they know each other well.

Within a few minutes, they politely withdraw, leaving Spencer to show me around.

We trail slowly past each exhibit, taking time to examine the children’s art on the walls. Each board displays a staged process in pictures drawn by the children. The idea is to show each step in their therapy through pictures.

Spencer explains that upon meeting a new child, therapists suggest the child sits at a desk filled with colored pens, crayons, and pencils and draws something that reflects how they feel.

Some of the childish pictures are gut-wrenching. The images clearly originate from a place of despair. In the early images, the kids often choose only one dark or angry color.

Some are scribbles made by very young children, which makes them harder to interpret. But several seem older, and it’s these that make me stop to appreciate how hard some of these young people have found life.

On a couple there are stick figures. One such drawing stood out because it so clearly told the artist’s story.

A colossal figure loomed menacingly over two much smaller figures, while a fourth lay on the floor, wearing a dress, with a knife beside it. It lead me to assume it was the child’s mother.

This single childish drawing makes me shudder at the thought of what that child has witnessed, how important it is for our young people to grow up in a safe, loving environment surrounded by love and understanding, whatever their color, creed, or sexuality.

As the child’s life improves, thanks in part to the support of the charity, it’s fascinating to see how the pictures change, introducing color, flowers, and space.

The most recent image drawn by the artist who affected me the most introduces features on their characters’ faces, and some evenhave smiles. My eyes fill with tears to see the progression this artist has made.

A young lad dressed from head to toe in Chelsea Football Club clothing approaches us, and I blot away my tears. I’d guess he must be around nine.

My husband seems delighted to see him; they tap their fingers together in a fist pump.

“Hey, Tobias, how’s life?” Spencer asks.

The lad shrugs nonchalantly, glancing around him. Perhaps too cool to be speaking to the adults.

“Pretty good.”

“That’s great. How did you get on at the try-outs?” Spencer asks him enthusiastically.

A smile rips across Tobias’s face. “Reallygood.”

Spencer’s face lights up with joy.

“Really? That’s amazing. Well done. I knew you could do it.”

I note he doesn’t push him for any more details, letting Tobias tell us his news.

As if Spencer suddenly remembers I’m next to him, he turns and says, “Tobias, this is my wife, Sophie.”

Tobias instantly becomes shy. His gaze briefly flicks to mine, and he mumbles, “Hello.”

“Hi, Tobias, it’s nice to meet you.” I say clearly.