You're part of our town!

My husband is conservative and religious man and likes to go into great tirades as to why I need to wear pantyhose. "A married woman must protect her modesty," he would explain. "Without covering her legs, she suggests that she locks a proper man in her life, and that she has low moral character. She might even be a prostitute if she shows you bare legs."
I can't deny him the right to decide what's best for me. I wouldn't want to offend him. He knows too much, and I'd rather be his wife than risk going to jail. I'd probably become somebody's wife in jail, too. And they certainly would be a lot less respecting than my current husband. I don't think I would be able to say no if one of those criminal brutes came up to fuck me.
Living as a woman had made me go 'soft in my head.' He's such a misogynist, sometimes. He's got such little faith in a woman's intelligence.
He takes joy in asserting total dominance over me, though. He makes me go into town to buy groceries, and some other necessities, nearly every day. He also insists that I, humiliatingly, buy some feminine items for myself. He knows that I am not a real woman, and yet he insists that I buy pads and tampons like as if l am capable of menstruating. A while back he even made me pick up some pregnancy tests because he said he wanted a son. Naturally I can't get pregnant, but I bet he'd be even more upset with me if I gave him a daughter.
There are no bachelors living in this town, everyone's married! All my new friends are only the various married women that lives here. They're the ones that take such pride in making me look this pretty. I have a scheduled appointment at the local beauty salon every Tuesday, and I never miss it. Though I am getting sick of it.
I passed by Laurence, our town's postman, and we quickly exchanged a couple of smiles. But then he stopped and said he might as well hand me my letter now, instead of biking all the way to my husband's house on top of the big hill.
I looked down on the letter and saw that it came from some kind of adoption agency. I quickly opened it and I didn't make it past the first sentence where I could only read 'congratulations...' before an old lady came up behind me. I recognised her from church, she was Mrs. Havers, our pastor's wife.
"Oh, my dear," Mrs. Havers said as he hugged me tight. "Your husband told me and my husband about your struggles to conceive, and we felt so sad for you. But your husband said we could help, if we testified to the adoption agency about what a good young virtuous Christian lady you are and how you dream being a mother. Keeping this a secret has been tough, but we're with my husband so happy for you and your husband, and we're going to make sure you feel just like any other mother. You're part of our town!"