She woke up, barely, and snuggled against her husband. She brushed her hand on his hair, a gesture of love she'd made a thousand times before.
Something didn't feel right. She opened her eyes. This isn't my bedroom! What have I done?!
Last night's events came crashing into her consciousness. Her husband had finally let loose his jealous, alcohol fueled rage in public. At the high priced charity bash a handsome man her age kept touching her arm, flirting with her. She didn't encourage him, she never did, but it was her nature to laugh and enjoy herself. Her husband, perhaps fifteen feet away, lost all restraint and called her terrible names. Bystanders gawked. Some were friends. She was crushed, humiliated to the core. Slightly drunk herself, she screamed back at him, "I can't take it anymore! If that's what you think..." She led the man she barely knew toward the exit.
Now she was creakily climbing out of bed and gathering her clothes. Her mouth tasted foul, her head throbbed. She did her best to shower, but no soap could cleanse her soul. I love you, my old man. Why did you have to be such a jackass? And why, oh why, did I betray you?
~~~~~
He woke up from a fitful, drunken sleep. An empty bottle sat on his nightstand. He rolled over. She wasn't there. A mirthless chuckle dropped out of him. I always knew it. I love you, my trophy wife. But why did you ever marry me?
He oozed out of bed toward the shower.
~~~~~
She came back through the bedroom. The man said, "Hey, babe. Come back to bed."
"I've got to go."
Her car was at home. She couldn't stand to see the man again. She stood on the sidewalk and called a cab. Neighbors stared.
Can I ever make this right?! Oh please, my old man, please, we have to get through this!
~~~~~
He sat at the kitchen table staring at a cup of coffee. Did my jealous rages push her to this, or has she been doing it all along? She's so young and beautiful, can I even blame her? He recalled the night they met, at a charity event much like last night. He rescued a waitress from crude, drunken men. She was so grateful she made him dinner.
I should have known it was just gratitude. Or worse, pity.
~~~~~
During the cab ride her mind fought through the headache, desperate to find the path from this nightmare. Is he thinking about divorce? His lawyers will tell him to deny me every penny he can. I don't want his money. I never did. If it comes to that, I'll walk away and go back to waitressing. But please, give me one more chance, my old man. Please.
She began crying.
~~~~~
My trophy wife, he thought. He remembered the first time he called her that, on their honeymoon. She was such a shimmering, gorgeous creation inside and out, he just blurted those words at her. She smiled, pulled him close, and said, "I hope you always feel that way. But I know the real truth. You are the trophy, my old man."
Ever since, those had been their private terms of endearment. If she wanted to cheer him up she just had to smile and say "my old man".
~~~~~
To block out the memory of what she'd done, she filled her mind with their honeymoon lovemaking. He's the best. Always. Sincere, passionate, giving. How could I do this to him? If only he could have believed that he could trust me.
The ride was over. She stared at the giant house like she'd never seen it before. His house. Do I still live here? I feel so dirty and hollow.
As she trudged to her fate, shame descended. Will he pardon me, or crush me to dust?
~~~~~
He heard the front door open. His heart pumped furiously. Is she alone? Is this the end?!
She stopped in the kitchen doorway.
She still has on her party clothes. Beautiful as she is, she looks like hell.
Neither wanted to speak first. "You're back," he finally said. I didn't mean to snarl. Or did I?
~~~~~
She recoiled. She tried to read him. Normally, they orbited around each other, their own private galaxy. Now she couldn't see past the barrier of pain on his face.
"I'm sorry," she stuttered.
~~~~~
I can't make this easy. I have to know if there's any love left in her. "Sorry for what?" I snapped.
