Authors Note: This is the first time I'm publishing something. Feedback is generally welcomed. Written from the wife's perspective. I had an alternate ending, but ultimately decided this was the way I wanted it to go. Enjoy :)
The doorbell rang unexpectedly. He wouldn't ring the doorbell, he lived here, he had keys. She shrugged it off, took one last glance in the mirror. Not bad. Sure she wasn't as young as she had once been, things weren't necessarily as perky, she had a few laugh lines. She had done her curly hazelnut hair into a half up style that hid the small patch of gray, growing ever more prominent if she parted her hair down the center.
She had even put on make-up for the occasion! Not foundation, he hated when she wore foundation. She would have to cake it on to try and cover all her freckles, and she quite liked her freckles if she was being honest; there was something youthful about a freckled face. Light smoky eyes, with mascara was her usual "fancy make-up". She didn't like to wear it at all, but special occasions found her scrounging around looking for the small bag of products she had had for over a decade. She had finished her look tonight with a bright red lipstick, brand new. She never wore this shade, but tonight she wanted to be daring. Bold. Confident. And the shade was called "bombshell", a name that would inspire any girl to act as though she was the black widow herself.
Her dress was simple. A blue striped button up number she had made herself. It was nicely fitted until her waist and then flowed out. The hem hitting just at the knee. It was what was underneath that made the outfit exciting. A pink corset teddy and matching thong. Also brand new. It had been an extravagance. Something that she was hoping would pique Matt's interest. Matt, her husband of 12 years. Truly the love of her life. They had met when she was 19, him in his early twenties. They had met through a mutual friend, neither one looking for a relationship. Isn't that always the way it goes? As soon as you stop looking for something, BAM the universe smacks you in the face with what you've been searching for the whole time. They had dated, lived together, and then finally tied the knot in a small ceremony surrounded by friends and family. It had been a whirlwind of love, and sex, and passion in those early years. She was completely swept away by him, and he was her. Everyone talked about how perfect of a match they were. Completing each other like two pieces of a human puzzle. They enjoyed the same food, music, and activities. They even had the same top "love languages", if those books were to be believed. Yes everything in their marriage had been, quite simply, perfect.
That was until sometime in the last year or so, he stopped looking at her. Stopped touching her. Stopped snuggling her to sleep at night. He was cold. Inattentive. And felt more like a strange roommate to her than the man she had fell for all those years ago. She had talked to her therapist about it at length.
"It is strange how in humans, when women are nearing the end of their reproductive years, the male libido seems to drop off. It's a cruel evolutionary trick, if you ask me." Had been the line during one such therapy session.
"But what can I do to get him back?" She had asked in response.
"You could talk to him about how you're feeling. Say you are missing that intimacy from the early days. It doesn't even need to be sex if he's not feeling it. I have a couple of books on the subject I can recommend, and there is a wonderful intimacy tracker app you could try. Maybe turning intimacy into a game will help him"
Right. Well, she had tried the books, useless garbage all about the reverse situation. "How to get your woman in bed.' That wasn't her problem. She wanted to be in bed, or on the couch, or in the shower. Hell! He could fuck her right on the living room floor if he wanted! Persian rug be damned! So she moved on to the app. She figured she'd give it a go on her own before trying to convince Matt to join in. There were daily challenges or tasks to be done everyday. She had been doing well so far this week. Only missing one day so far. Today's challenge read "get dressed up just for him!" Well she had done that to be sure. Now the rest was up to him. If this didn't work, she wasn't sure how much longer she could go on like this.
The doorbell rang again, snapping her from her thoughts.
"Coming!" She called. Again confused as to why Matt would ring the doorbell.
But when she got to the front door, it wasn't her husband.
The man was tall, well dressed in a button up shirt, and nice slacks. But this wasn't what she had been expecting.
"Hello, can I help you?" she asked.
"Is this the Wakefield residence?" the man inquired.
"Yes," she replied, her suspicion only slightly piqued.
"And you are Mrs. Amelia Wakefield?"
"I am."
"Good, I've got the right house. May I come in?"
"What is this regarding?" she probed, still uncertain about letting this dashing stranger into her home.
"It's a rather delicate matter regarding your mortgage."
She raised an eyebrow. "Well, perhaps you'll want to wait until my husband is home. He handles all the financial matters. I'm not sure I'll be able to help you."
"But your name is on the contract ma'am."
"What?" she replied, genuinely surprised. Matt had always dealt with anything related to money and big decisions. He made the money, so he should decide how it was used. Any purchase over $300 went through him -- this included their mortgage. Sure, she'd co-signed since they were married, so technically they both owned the house and the car, but she knew nothing about interest rates or the ins and outs of mortgages. Why did this man insist on speaking to her directly?
"Please ma'am, I don't wish to discuss this further while standing on your front step"
"Oh, of course. Sorry." She opened the door wider and waved for him to come in.
"Thank you. It's a sweltering evening out there. Much obliged."
"Can I get you a glass of limeade? Homemade?" Despite the strange situation -- this man in her home, discussing things she didn't understand -- she could still be hospitable.
"Limeade sounds lovely, thank you," he said, removing his shoes as he stepped inside. He must have noticed the mat but the door, indicating that this was a 'shoe free' household.
"We can sit here, and you can explain everything to me. In simple terms, please." She gestured toward the living room as she handed him his glass. It wasn't a grand room by any stretch. Quaint with its bookshelves, side tables, and mismatched loveseat and chairs. She'd curated the look herself: comfortable, cozy, shabby-chic.
"Of course. After you."
She took a chair, and he sat on the loveseat opposite her.
"Now I suppose I should explain," he began.
"Please!" she snapped, more sharply than she intended.
"My name is Richard Shaftesbury. I work for Shady Shore Debt Collection"
"Debt collection?" she repeated, her voice a little shaky.
"Yes, it seems your husband hasn't mentioned anything about this to you."
She shook her head. No, no he hadn't.
"Right. Well we are a debt collection agency that specializes in clients who have incurred substantial debt with their financial institution and are unable to repay it in the allotted time frame specified in the original loan agreement."
"I'm confused," she admitted, genuinely lost. This was a conversation for Matt, not her.
"Let me try again. When you purchased this house, you had told the bank that you had a down payment of $85,000."
"Yes, from the sale of our starter home, minus some other debts we paid off to consolidate everything into just our mortgage!" she explained. She knew this part because Matt had brought it up during many conversations -- whenever the housing market came up at least. She usually tuned him out, but some of the details had stuck nonetheless.
"The bank never received that down payment."
"That's impossible!" she exclaimed.
"Not according to the financial records," he replied calmly. "We have on file that there's an outstanding $85,000 still owed to your financial institution, and it's due in the next 100 days."
"What?" Her pulse quickened. This was outrageous! They'd lived in this house for 5 years -- why was this just coming up now? Where did that money go? Matt had a lot of explaining to do when he got home. Where was he anyway?
"That's where our firm comes in," Richard continued. "We've taken over your debt, and refinanced the loan, which will now be paid directly to us over an extended time period."
That was a small relief -- she had longer than 100 days to come up with that kind of cash. But how? She was a full-time homemaker, and Matt had a fixed salary.
"What's the time frame? What are the payments? It's not like we can just *poof* make that kind of money appear out of nowhere?"
"It's all in the contract here." He pulled a sheet of paper from a manila envelope and handed it to her.
She took one glance and knew she was in over her head. The paper was filled with legal jargon that made her head spin. Words like 'Policy exclusivity', 'appendix', 'termination of contract' blurred together. She was completely lost.
"I'm sorry, I'm not very good with these sorts of things. Can you explain it to me? Or we could wait for my husband -- he should be home any minute."
"Unfortunately, your husband won't be able to help, as you can see at the top of the document. It's you that owes the money, not your husband."
"How can that be? I don't even earn an income!"
"I'm not sure ma'am. But if you look further down, you'll see that the payments are only $100 bi-weekly, until the debt is paid in full. The fees will be taken via direct deposit, and should you wish to make a lump sum payment, that can be arranged as well."
"$100 every two weeks," she repeated, her mind starting to clear. "I suppose I can make that happen." Maybe she could pick up some side work -- bake a few cakes, do some mending, something to cover the cost. There seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel.
"Fantastic! Do you have a pen? We can get these contracts signed, and you'll be on your way to being debt-free!"
"In the kitchen," she said, standing up and crossing the room. After the shock of the news, she needed something stronger than limeade. Matt was going to get an earful when he came home.
How could this have happened? And why was she the one that was responsible for his fuck-up? Well fine, she would pay back this debt all by herself, and then she would make him pay in some other way. A divorce perhaps? Selling all his things? She wasn't sure yet, she needed time and tequila to come up with a plan. She grabbed a bottle of clear liquid from the cupboard and poured a hefty amount into her glass, then topped the glass off with more limeade.
