Page 5 of If I Didn’t Have You

“Fucking hell,” I muttered, grabbing a spare shirt to mop up the mess.

3

CLARA

He was in his den again, watching TV like he did every day. My youngish, vibrant husband was turning into a couch potato, all because he was depressed. I’d tried to get him to move past what had happened, but nothing worked. His kids were taking over, and in his absence, making all the decisions for the ranch. Soon, he would be left out in the cold.

Meanwhile, I was still working day in and day out to keep this house running. Laundry still piled up, the kids still came home for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—never with any warning.

And I was expected to hold it all together.

Fresh bread, a hearty meal, beer always in the fridge.

Well, I was tired of it. I wasn’t even sixty, but the way my back ached, I felt like I was approaching my seventies. Life wasn’t supposed to be this hard all the time. After the kids moved out, I was supposed to live in my golden years. Whatever happened to retirement?

I’d had enough, and there were going to be more than a few changes around here. Barging into the den, I marched over to the chair, dug the remote out of the seat cushion, and turned it off.

“Ben.”

When he didn’t hear me, I gave him a harsh slap across the face, then stood back, staring at him in concern as he jolted, looking around for the threat.

“Are you okay?” I asked, worrying my bottom lip.

“What just happened?”

“I don’t know. It looked like you were having a nightmare. Is everything okay?”

Scrubbing a hand down his unshaven face, he sat up. “Yeah, it’s all good. Did you need something?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” I beamed. “Since your days have gotten a lot easier, I think it’s time we tackle a few projects around the house I’ve been meaning to get to.”

He scowled at my choice of words. “Things aren’t easier.”

I made a point of looking around the room, and particularly, where he was sitting. “Well, you never used to have time for a mid-afternoon nap. Or one in the morning either.”

“I just fell asleep,” he grumbled.

“Yes, and you’ve been sleeping every day. I’m surprised you even have the energy to sleep at night. Now, follow me. We have a lot to cover before you go into town and get started,” I called over my shoulder as I marched out of the room.

As I headed upstairs, I started making a list of everything that needed to be done.

“These stairs need to be replaced. They creak worse than my knees!”

“But I built these stairs with my father!” he bellowed, rushing after me.

I stopped on one particular stair and put all my weight on it. The stair groaned loudly, then again as I took my foot off. “Did you hear that? You wake me up every night when you creep downstairs for a midnight snack.”

He had the audacity to look affronted. “I do not.”

“Oh please. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that half a cake is missing? Or that the cookie box wasn’t sealed properly?”

My dear husband ran a hand along the back of his neck, the surly attitude of his only growing with every flaw I pointed out. And the thing was, I really didn’t care that he had midnight cravings. I was just tired of the lies.

“I can stop.”

“I don’t care if you stop. What I do care about is that the stairs need to be fixed.” I spun on my heel, nearly plowing him over as I headed back downstairs. “Now, on to the living room.”

As I hopped down the last step, he rushed after me. “What about the living room?”