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“Why not?” I snap, angry that she doesn’t want to stay with me in the room.
“I’m not going to stay in the same room where you hold a shrine to your wife.”
Shit, who the fuck told her?
“There is no shrine!” She gets me so fucking angry.
“I’m not going to sleep in a bed where you will be looking up at your dead wife while I’m in there,” she reiterates. “So much for the one mate theory.” With those words I can hear the hurt underneath her anger and it tears me apart. The last thing I want to do is hurt her. I promised myself I would never hurt another woman again, never make a woman suffer emotionally because of me again.
“I took it down, look!” I turn slightly so she can look at the wall, her head turns, and I see her looking at the place where the painting was. Now there’s only a mark from it being against the wall for so many years.
“No painting but the mark is there to remind you of what was there.” She says stubbornly.
“For Pete’s sake, I’ll paint the damn wall. Will that help?” Instead of answering, she huffs. Shaking my head, I walk towards the bed, placing her against the pillows that are still arranged against the headboard from earlier when she was here. I need to make sure to get the damn painting from under the bed and into storage before she finds out where it is, or she will most probably burn the damn thing to a crisp.
My woman is a lit firecracker when she’s upset!
