This is a rather dark, bleak tale. There's an element of truth in this one. (Though changed to protect the guilty.) If you do not like dark, bleak non-stroke stories, please read no further for your own sake.
He brushed the dirt from his hands and looked down at the grave of his only son, Simon. Dead at twelve from a particularly aggressive form of cancer for which there was still no cure.
He was, or rather, had been their only child. They'd briefly mentioned having another but his wife had rejected the idea out of hand.
Simon had been dead for two years and Bradley still liked to come to the grave to talk to his son.
His relationship with his wife had never picked up following Simon's death.
Bradley had wanted them to go to counselling, but she? Well, she was so against it that he had given up pursuing the matter.
And now? Bradley thought he knew the truth. He knew why his wife had never wanted another baby and why she'd rejected counselling. And he realised the problems were deeper and far older than he'd thought possible.
Bradley listened to the recording of the party and felt as if he were cold. Though it was the height of summer.
He had known that things between himself and Jill were bad. She had been weird for many years but had got even weirder over the last six months or so. She had began criticising him and picking fault with him and deliberately starting arguments over nothing.
Eventually she sat him down at the kitchen table and had paced around the room as if she were feeling wired. Her mood was strange, but she seemed a good deal calmer than she had been of late.
"What's wrong Jill? You have something on your mind."
She turned and faced him. "Bradley, you and me we haven't been getting on well in the longest time. And, I think it's time we had a trial separation."
He felt his stomach burn with acid. "When will you leave?"
She looked shocked. "Oh, honey, I thought you should leave. I mean, it's not like I'm going to ask for a divorce or anything. And I promise you on our son's grave and on your life, that there's nobody else, before you ask that question. I just need time apart to figure some stuff out."
Bradley wasn't stupid. It hurt him that she would use their son's grave to swear out something that was probably a lie. The fact she chose to make the oath on his life and not her own? He thought that significant. Not that he felt that he particularly valued his life at the precise moment.
"So," said Bradley, "will you consider having couple's counselling to help us find a way through this?"
She shook her head. "You know my opinion on counselling. But... I'm not saying no to therapy for us, but what I am saying is that would be something for the future, not just yet. I don't feel I'm ready for that, at the moment. But I'm certainly not ruling it out."
He glanced over toward her. "When do you want me to leave?"
"Well, not immediately, obviously."
