She sat crying on the couch, mascara running down her cheeks as he slammed the door on his way out. She picked up the nearest object, the T.V. remote, and hurled it after him; it bounced off the wall and broke into 3 pieces as it landed.
She wanted to scream but didn’t. It wouldn’t make the pain go away. It wouldn’t make him come home. It wouldn’t make him love her again. What was so wrong with her that he didn’t love her anymore?
She walked to the mirror and stared at what a mess she was. Her whole life was a mess.
She sat down and picked up her phone. She started to dial and stopped. She knew it wasn’t fair to him but she needed him. He would hold her and make love to her and she could pretend that she had never left him and married the wrong man. It would be the last time she promised herself, lied to herself.
She took a deep breath and slowly pressed the numbers she knew by heart. What if he didn’t love her anymore? What if he didn’t answer?
But he did, of course, and he always would because he loved her.