My parents had been married for 34 years, faithful throughout. I assumed her harsh advice came from her decades as a couples counselor. She’d witnessed an array of bitter arguments and costly outcomes, providing her the reality check I needed.
“Come on,” I scoffed. “I think I’d notice if I was being cheated on,” I said as my battery began blinking toward death.Dozens of conversations printed onto the floor, each page more agonizing to read than the one before. In messages starting with nicknames for each other and ending with love, he confided in her about our relationship. I read on as he exposed our every struggle and unhappiness that until that moment, I’d thought was passing. Their intimate banter made me nauseated. By the last page, I knew he wasn’t cheating on me; he was leaving me. Time crept, the sun tagged in the moon, but I sat paralyzed in pajamas. Until the front door slammed and his heavy boots bounded up the stairs. Confront him, my mother’s words echoed.
“Hi you,” he said, kissing my forehead. I inhaled, desperate to catch her scent.
“Andrew,” I began, hands under crossed arms, my fingers gripping onto ribs. “Are you involved with another woman?” The words sounded foreign, like something I’d seen on bad TV.
“You can’t be serious,” he paused, narrowing his eyes. “No, Jess, I’m not. Where is this coming from?” His hands remained folded in his lap.
“Andrew, just tell me,” I paused, “is there someone else?”
He laughed, shaking his head, “No, why? Are you seeing someone else?” He questioned mockingly. I wanted to strangle him, claw out his eyes, but I was stuck, frozen in disbelief.
I pitched the stack of pages at him. Screams, sobs, slammed doors. Then silence. That night our marriage was over. An affair I could forgive. A betrayal of his body, I could forget with time. But when he seemed so comfortable lying, I knew I’d question everything if I stayed.
My parents had been married for 34 years, faithful throughout. I assumed her harsh advice came from her decades as a couples counselor. She’d witnessed an array of bitter arguments and costly outcomes, providing her the reality check I needed.
“Come on,” I scoffed. “I think I’d notice if I was being cheated on,” I said as my battery began blinking toward death.Dozens of conversations printed onto the floor, each page more agonizing to read than the one before. In messages starting with nicknames for each other and ending with love, he confided in her about our relationship. I read on as he exposed our every struggle and unhappiness that until that moment, I’d thought was passing. Their intimate banter made me nauseated. By the last page, I knew he wasn’t cheating on me; he was leaving me. Time crept, the sun tagged in the moon, but I sat paralyzed in pajamas. Until the front door slammed and his heavy boots bounded up the stairs. Confront him, my mother’s words echoed.
“Hi you,” he said, kissing my forehead. I inhaled, desperate to catch her scent.
“Andrew,” I began, hands under crossed arms, my fingers gripping onto ribs. “Are you involved with another woman?” The words sounded foreign, like something I’d seen on bad TV.
“You can’t be serious,” he paused, narrowing his eyes. “No, Jess, I’m not. Where is this coming from?” His hands remained folded in his lap.
“Andrew, just tell me,” I paused, “is there someone else?”
He laughed, shaking his head, “No, why? Are you seeing someone else?” He questioned mockingly. I wanted to strangle him, claw out his eyes, but I was stuck, frozen in disbelief.
I pitched the stack of pages at him. Screams, sobs, slammed doors. Then silence. That night our marriage was over. An affair I could forgive. A betrayal of his body, I could forget with time. But when he seemed so comfortable lying, I knew I’d question everything if I stayed.
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My parents had been married for 34 years, faithful throughout. I assumed her harsh advice came from her decades as a couples counselor. She’d witnessed an array of bitter arguments and costly outcomes, providing her the reality check I needed.
“Come on,” I scoffed. “I think I’d notice if I was being cheated on,” I said as my battery began blinking toward death.Dozens of conversations printed onto the floor, each page more agonizing to read than the one before. In messages starting with nicknames for each other and ending with love, he confided in her about our relationship. I read on as he exposed our every struggle and unhappiness that until that moment, I’d thought was passing. Their intimate banter made me nauseated. By the last page, I knew he wasn’t cheating on me; he was leaving me. Time crept, the sun tagged in the moon, but I sat paralyzed in pajamas. Until the front door slammed and his heavy boots bounded up the stairs. Confront him, my mother’s words echoed.
“Hi you,” he said, kissing my forehead. I inhaled, desperate to catch her scent.
“Andrew,” I began, hands under crossed arms, my fingers gripping onto ribs. “Are you involved with another woman?” The words sounded foreign, like something I’d seen on bad TV.
“You can’t be serious,” he paused, narrowing his eyes. “No, Jess, I’m not. Where is this coming from?” His hands remained folded in his lap.
“Andrew, just tell me,” I paused, “is there someone else?”
He laughed, shaking his head, “No, why? Are you seeing someone else?” He questioned mockingly. I wanted to strangle him, claw out his eyes, but I was stuck, frozen in disbelief.
I pitched the stack of pages at him. Screams, sobs, slammed doors. Then silence. That night our marriage was over. An affair I could forgive. A betrayal of his body, I could forget with time. But when he seemed so comfortable lying, I knew I’d question everything if I stayed.
การแปล กรุณารอสักครู่..
