I noticed William acting different, quiet and distant, like something was on his mind. He asked me if we were ever going to have children of our own. Oh, no, he didn't just say that, did he? It wasn't comforting to hear those words. Apparently, he didn't look at Chloe as his own. I couldn't understand why he’d want a baby when he couldn't even deal with her. Maybe he’d react differently if the baby was his biological child. I thought about it for a while and came to the conclusion that us having a baby might bring our family closer together, so I agreed.
William tried to get me pregnant. He obsessed over the idea for a while, talking about conceiving almost every moment we’d spent together. After a few months of effort, I finally got pregnant. He was quite excited, beaming with pride. I realized things were starting to change. His attitude regarding Chloe lightened up. When she’d do silly things, he’d smile and shake his head. Everything was starting to fall right into place.
One night I wasn't feeling well, knowing inside myself something was wrong, very wrong. I tossed and turned in bed. My forehead was saturated in sweat, drenching my pillow. I had sharp pains in my stomach. After I got up and went to the bathroom, I noticed I’d spotted. The amount of blood was significant. I ran back into the bedroom and woke up William. When I told him what had happened, his eyes welled up and his voice got shaky like he was about to cry.
William took charge of the situation, running back and forth with nervous energy. He got Chloe up, dressed her, and got us into the car preparing to take me to the hospital. The drive was an uncomfortable silence. His eyes were filled with worry.
All through the process William was wonderful. I felt cared for because he was doing everything in his power to keep us safe. The expression on his face was of genuine concern. My heart went out to him. I realized he could be a good person. He had potential to be loved.
We lost the baby. Afterward, William alienated me, as if I were broken. Neither of us had ever initiated sex since then. We never spoke of it, as if it didn't even exist.
After we got home from the hospital, everything I did seemed wrong in his eyes, blaming me for all that didn’t go right. We just went through the motions in a marriage of convenience. We’d bicker on a daily basis over simple things that didn't even matter: cleaning the house, washing the dishes, doing the laundry. I realized if I were to survive in our relationship, I needed to figure out a way to reduce the newfound stress on William's shoulders, causing him to be irritable, making him grouchy. I distanced myself from him, hoping my absence would make his heart grow fonder, but it didn’t seem to work. I knew I was getting food and shelter out of the deal, but what was he getting? That's why I believed our relationship was coming to an end. There was obviously nothing left for him, so I felt like my days were numbered.
I needed to keep Chloe away from William. After all, she wasn't his child, so I didn't expect him to feel the way I did about her. It was apparent to me he must have thought Chloe was baggage, but to me, she was my number one priority.
I realized I must completely change my ways. My mission in life had always been to keep Chloe safe, being the best mother possible, but I wasn’t doing very well. I didn’t want my daughter to mess up like I had in the past, so I needed to set a good example for her. That’s why I got together with William in the first place, so he could take care of us. Not very romantic, but necessary as far as stability was concerned. I had to make compromises to give Chloe a stable home, knowing I needed to do a lot of work on myself before I could call myself a good mother.
Thinking back, I could have done something productive and got myself some type of career but didn't. I just wasted time doing nothing, living the simple life, becoming more dependent on William as the years went on.
I’d always just wanted to be a housewife and stay-at-home mom. It had been my dream since I was a little girl. I used to play with my dolls, imagining and fantasizing my future white picket fence lifestyle. It involved my husband, who was madly in love with me, coming home from work, me greeting him at the door with a kiss, asking him how his day had gone. After dinner we'd sit on the couch as a family and enjoy every moment, loving one another unconditionally. Of course, that's what dreams are made of, right? Too bad my dream never came true.
Throughout the years I’d met some nice ladies and hung out with them. I’d belonged to a book club, mostly reading and discussing contemporary romance novels and giving our opinions. I was an avid reader, and romance was my favorite, so meeting up with other kindred spirits had been fulfilling. Of course, my social life didn't last very long. William eventually made it unbearable for anyone to hang out with me. He kept me on a short leash, and my friends didn't understand why I couldn't come and go as I pleased. They were insulted when he’d make remarks about them. I tried my best to remain friends with them, but at some point, they all abandoned me because William went too far, saying something inconceivable and unforgivable.
Once William asked one of my friends when her baby was due, which wouldn't have been insulting had she been pregnant. He acted all passive aggressive, pretending the tone of his offensive statements were misunderstood. I believed he’d gotten his kicks insulting women. He'd had a smirk on his face, clearly revealing his true intentions.
Eventually, I had to cut all my ties with my lady friends for what I thought might bloom into true love. Although, my feelings for William never got to that point. I tried to love him, but the chemistry was never there. Just when I thought he had a heart, he'd do something asinine to prove otherwise.
All of the ladies in my book club told me I should write a short story, so I went home inspired and secretly crafted a personal story from my past and brought it in the following week. Everyone who read my story gave me words of encouragement, so I thought I might pursue writing a novel. I went home excited, confiding in William of my newfound passion, feeling alive, feeling determined. I told him I wanted to be a romance author. He rolled his eyes and told me it was possible but not probable. I was crushed. I immediately ripped up my short story and threw it in the trash.
In spite of the way William sometimes acted, I was thankful to have him as a provider. He’d saved me when I was homeless, pregnant, and alone in a new city. He was there when I needed someone most. I was helpless and hopeless and in need of someone's generosity. I found it wasn't easy being pregnant with nowhere to go and nobody to help me.
William was so sweet to me when we first met, even though I’d been a hopeless mess. So sweet, I wondered if there were ulterior motives. Overall, he was a good man. While he wasn’t the best man, he was well off financially, and my only chance to make a home for my unborn baby girl. He could definitely make sure Chloe had a good future, providing her with a formal education and help her with his many connections in the business world. At least that’s what I’d hoped.
Chapter 8
Something occurred to me that made my skin crawl. No matter how things turned out, I’d have to pay. When he opened the briefcase, he’d most likely become upset that I’d been messing around in his things. I realized I might have made a mistake in judgment. What was I thinking?
Regret had me stressing the whole time William was away. Every time the phone rang I expected it would have been him, shouting at me all irate, telling me I should clear out my things and find a new place to live. Although, each time I answered the phone it wasn't him but some junk call inquiring about our car’s extended warranty.
I’d lost all hope. It was apparent William didn't have any feelings left for me. I’d never experienced anything worse than teetering on the brink of a breakup, becoming so unloved I’d completely lost my appetite. My face had hurt to cry, feeling unwanted, feeling inadequate, feeling helpless. Did I have value any longer?
I thought about calling William, but I kept going over the possible outcomes in my mind, over and over and over again, and none of them had been good. Maybe us not being together was for the best. The more I thought about the end of our marriage, the more it seemed like t
he most logical outcome. I realized I’d really botched things up being dependent on William.
I remembered something unusual, and it got me thinking. Within the last few months, especially within the last week before William left, there had been someone calling and hanging up each time I answered the phone. The most suspicious part was that the hangup calls had stopped after he’d left for his trip. Was that a coincidence? I really didn't think anything of it at first, but when I thought back, everything had become clearer. Come to think if it, I also remember seeing an unfamiliar car that had been passing by our house a lot. It concerned me. I figured whoever was making those calls didn't have to call anymore because she was with William. The thought of that being true hurt me so much, stabbing my heart, filling me with insecurities, making me cry. I wouldn't let myself believe it was true. Even though it clearly was a possibility, I needed to keep my mind on positive thoughts and hope for the best. What was wrong with me? I just kept hoping to hear from him to find out how he’d reacted about my letter.
By the end of the week, I realized William had either lightened up or never opened the briefcase at all. The idea of him lightening up seemed highly unlikely, so I knew I needed to start to prepare myself for the worst. If I didn't, I’d be even more devastated.
My hair was a mess and needed washed, looking like a short brown grease pit, shining in the lights, smelling filthy, sticking to my forehead. I brushed my bangs back with my fingertips as if it were going to do any good, but it continued to fall down in the same place, over my eyes. Bitter, stale coffee had polluted my mouth. My eyes burned slightly, and my stomach ached from the lack of sleep. My thighs rubbed together and were chafed. Taking a shower was long overdue.
I went to pour myself a cup of coffee and mistakenly spilled all of it on my lap. It didn’t even faze me, because I was so used to disappointment. Fortunately, it wasn’t too hot. I wanted to make another cup, but I couldn’t because we didn’t have any more coffee, and I didn’t have any money. I’d been drinking too many cups lately anyhow. My eye had been twitching all morning, fighting off an eye-ball headache. I wiped my hand across my sweatpants, pulling back my over-sized t-shirt I’d always worn to cover my ass due to my insecurities. I was a hot mess and had reached almost the point of no return. If I didn't do something soon, I might have to declare myself a hopeless case.
I’d become more self-conscious than ever since I’d packed on more weight, heavier than I'd ever been in my life. My reflection from a mirror across the room mocked me, taunted me, my body bulging at every angle, revealing all of my flaws. It was only a reminder of how chubby my face had gotten over the years. It didn't help that my short brown hair didn't frame my face properly like it had in the past. I didn't want the hairdresser to style it so short, but she’d insisted it would look much better. Well, she was wrong.
I remembered my hair when I was younger, long, blonde, flowing. Back then, I was beautiful, more beautiful than I’d ever been in my life. Of course, things have changed since then, and I was a new woman. Not the woman I wanted to become, but a new woman nonetheless. Those were the cards that were dealt to me due to my wild past, so I needed to either get used to it or do something about it.
I knew what I had to do to clean up my act, but I found I’d been repeatedly sabotaging myself, making excuses, trying to justify my actions. Since I'd been doing the same things for so many years, it was hard to stop. It seemed like it would only take common sense to change, but I had mixed emotions that kept holding me back, limiting beliefs torturing me.
I was drowning in self-pity. Hitting rock bottom was causing me to have a change of heart.
Chapter 9
Someone moving around outside, footsteps approaching up the stairway, causing my stomach discomfort, I wondered who it could be. It couldn't have been William because I wasn't expecting him for another day. He was never one to go off schedule.
Before I could pull back the shade on the door window, a clicking sound of hands fiddling with the lock chilled my bones. The handle spun, and the door slammed open.
William stormed into the house, stomped over to the kitchen table, and set down his briefcase. The first thing to come out of his mouth was his usual bitching.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he shouted. "Why is this place such a mess? Did you do anything while I was gone? Why do you look like shit? You do realize we have running water, right?"
I didn't have the courage to defend myself, so I didn’t respond at all. Anything I could have said, would have been an excuse. Only one thing was on my mind, my letter. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t mentioned it.
William’s eyes were piercing through me. He was in an awful mood. The vein next to his temple was throbbing, so I knew I was in big trouble.
"Is something wrong?" I asked.
Regretting uttering a word to him, my heart beating faster, having difficulty breathing, my chest tightened, waiting for him to reply.
"You know what's wrong," he replied.
Feeling like I was about to collapse to the ground, I was feeding on his every word, waiting for him to respond about my letter. Seeing the look of hatred in his eyes, I’d regretted writing the letter at all.
"I'm sorry," I said.
Why did I just apologize? I didn’t do anything wrong.
William raised his hand, as if he were going to smack me in the face, which shocked me. Then he turned away as if striking me wasn't worth his effort.
I cringed, pulling myself out of the range of his grasp. Something told me if he’d read my letter, he wasn’t ready or willing to make our relationship work.
William’s teeth clinched as he began to speak.
"You knew how important it was for me to have those vouchers for my trip," he said, "and you didn't even pack them for me like I’d asked you to. Do you realize I had to pay full price? Can't you do anything right?"
William may just have confirmed my suspicions. He’d never opened the briefcase, or he’s toying with me, which he’d been known to do on occasion, so I couldn’t be sure.
When I looked at his briefcase, the thread from my red sweater was still hanging from the bottom of the hinge, which indicated to me the briefcase had never been opened since he’d left, otherwise it would have most likely broken free and fell off. When I inspected the combination lock, I noticed it was still scrambled to the digits 411. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe he’d opened it, and the string had just gotten stuck and remained attached, or maybe William was a lying, cheating, motherfucker. Then I thought, what did he do on his trip, or might I say who?
For a moment, I realized I still had an opportunity to remove my letter if I could only get him to unlock the briefcase. I needed to think fast, trying to figure out a way. If he were to unlock it, maybe I could distract him before the lid was completely open and get him to somehow leave the room.
William fiddled with the combination on his briefcase when suddenly nature called, his stomach grumbling, his hand holding his belly, his expression grimacing. He rushed down the hallway and went into the bathroom, muttering something about eating Thai food before his flight, whining about his stomach being a mess.
Since when did William eat Thai food? I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He’d never been adventurous enough to eat exotic food. Why the change of heart?
I hurried, trying my best to open the briefcase, but he hadn't fully completed the combination to unlock it. I took a butter knife from the drawer and tried to pry the briefcase open, but it only scratched the metal seal.
I reached for a scouring pad from the sink, scrubbing the scratched area, hoping it would go away, only making it worse, regretting my hasty decision to break into it. If William saw the damage I’d done, he’d blow his stack. As much as I tried, there was nothing that could be done.
Moments later, William walked back into the kitchen. He slid his briefcase in front of his regular spot. I tried my best to act like there was nothing out of the ordinary, even though I was scared and
fuming inside.
“I didn't realize you'd be home so soon,” I said. “Did you get a lot of work done on your trip?"
My voice cracked slightly as the words came out, fighting back the impulse to punch him in the face.
“What happened with the vouchers?” he asked. “I’d like to know the reason for your incompetence. I’m sure you have many excuses.”
I clinched my teeth and bit my tongue, holding back my anger.
"I'm sure you were really busy working on the trip," I said, “right?”
"I was swamped," He patted his briefcase. "Do you realize how many contracts I had to read through while I was gone? I hardly left the room."
I maintained my poker-face, my blood boiling, trying my best to contain my temper. I knew he couldn't have opened his briefcase otherwise he would have found my letter, and he would have mentioned it for sure. My chest tightened. I tried my best not to say anything, but my mouth switched on auto-pilot, and the flood gates opened.
"You fucking liar," I said. "I can’t believe you can stand there and look me in the eye."
"You watch your mouth," he replied. “Chloe is only in the other room. She shouldn’t have to hear her mother spout such foul language. Remember, she’s only a child.”
I couldn’t believe he was trying to make me seem irrational. He was quite a hypocrite, more time than not cussing at the top of his lungs right in front of Chloe. I wasn’t going to let him guilt me. I stayed focused on confronting him of his wrongdoing.
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