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Beth
He’s drinking more. He blames the caseload at work.
I think he will find any excuse.
His idea of being a father is merely dropping into the nursery to see his sleeping daughter, kiss her on the forehead, and walk away again. I wonder if he remembers the last time he saw her with her eyes open.
I was cleaning dishes in the sink from a dinner he didn’t eat when his hands came around my waist.
I shivered.
It’s not like it used to be.
Nothing is.
His flowers used to come when he thought about me. Then they were an apology. Now the flowers don’t exist anymore.
What’s the point in apologizing when you’re just going to have to do it all again next week?
He pressed his lips to my neck. I tilted my head to get away from him, but he saw it as an invitation. Gripping the edge of the sink, I closed my eyes and begged for him to leave me alone.
Drink more and sleep.
It’s hard to feel desirable to a man who reminds me I still haven’t lost the baby weight.
He pressed into me again, and the erection digging into my lower back made me grit my teeth.
He didn’t smell like himself.
He certainly didn’t smell like me.
He smelled like her.
Like sex and not a lot of shame.
God bless his stamina.
I pulled away, drying my hands on the towel as I said, “Nice perfume.”
He didn’t even act surprised. Not a flinch of regret or any hint he was going to deny it.
At least he spared me that much.
“Don’t be fucking difficult, Beth.”
I reminded myself to close my mouth, hating the sharp sting right to the chest. But that sting was like an arrow and that arrow exploded. I was too distracted by the pain his lack of remorse caused to watch my mouth.
“I’m being difficult? You’re the one coming home late smelling like another woman’s perfume.”
He turned away, choosing to refill his tumbler rather than argue with me.
There was no passion left in his gaze. No heat in his stare. There was only a quiet disdain when he looked at me. It made me want to claw at my flesh.
I tried. I tried to make the marriage work for two years. I did everything he asked, tore myself inside out just to please him.
“I want to go home. You promised we could go home when Hannah was born.”
“We don’t always get what we want, now do we, sweetheart? It’s business, and you’re my wife. Your job is to smile when appropriate, and to support your husband. The husband that gets up every morning to work for this lovely house you have over your head.”
