It was late.
The entire week had passed, and you hadn’t said a word.
You came and went as if I wasn’t there even as you grazed your shoulder against mine.
Our son was the witness…seeing how the only man he knew treated a woman.
This was your expression of love toward his mother…and mentally he took notes.
Then it was midnight on the seventh day, and you were ready to speak.
So of course, you expected that I was too. After all, the baby was down
the dishes done, and the laundry neatly folded in its place.
You’d mastered the art of saying a lot without really saying a thing.
You talked, I nodded and when you were finished, I noticed your bags packed and sitting in the dark corner near the door.
Your house key glistened on the table. I hadn’t noticed it before.
Perhaps the finality of your announcement made everything brighter.
“I’ll be back for the rest of my things,” You said.
I thought about the fact that you had convinced me to quit my job only days before
and we had to eat. Your son needed diapers…milk…
It was odd that you had not mentioned those things in your ramblings.
“This time it’s you not me.” You said proudly happy to finally have the last word.
I saw you stuff the checkbook in your back pocket and the extra cash that we kept in the cabinet above the sink.
You thought of everything, except…
You forgot that I was strong. That I had been a survivor long before we’d met.
You forgot that you weren’t the beginning or the end of my world…just a part.
I knew love was never anything you understood or recognized.
You wanted to be uncomfortable, angry, and so I was happy
that you had at last succeeded at something.
And then it was morning. There was a knock at the door. It was Joy!
Photo credit: Sid Sun for Unsplash
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