His "Return"
Mark slammed out, vanished overnight. Next day, calmer, or preserving appearances, he returned. We didn't mention the office scene. Didn't fight. But a crushing, suffocating silence coiled between us like frozen vines. At home, we occupied separate corners. Opposite ends of the sofa. Opposite sides of the table. Opposite edges of the bed. Unspoken tension choked the air. Eyes met, sparked, and instantly flicked away. The intimacy, the trust, lay pulverized behind that frosted glass door. He stopped explaining. I stopped asking.
Caught Again
Jenna became verboten. The cold war stretched days. Mark seemed to grasp the gravity, or tried damage control. One evening, he detoured to my favorite florist. Brought home a small bouquet of white daisies. At dinner, he served me, struggling to speak. "Linda… I know the Jenna stuff… bothered you." He paused, weighing words. "Let’s… let’s leave it in the past, okay? Turn the page. From now on… if she asks for coffee or whatever… I’ll refuse. If I can't… I'll tell her it upsets you."
Trust Dies
He glanced up, gaze complex—testing, weary, hinting I've conceded, what more do you want? "Turn the page?" I set my chopsticks down. "How? Pretend nothing happened? Mark, coffee isn't our problem." Barely a week later. I needed a printed quarterly report backup from Jenna's file cabinet. Approaching her office, Mark was inside, back to the door, bent over rummaging behind her massive desk. "You… Jenna? She's in a meeting." His words rushed out. He instinctively hid a small bottle behind his back—a jerky, obvious movement.
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Mark slammed out, vanished overnight. Next day, calmer, or preserving appearances, he returned. We didn't mention the office scene. Didn't fight. But a crushing, suffocating silence coiled between us like frozen vines. At home, we occupied separate corners. Opposite ends of the sofa. Opposite sides of the table. Opposite edges of the bed. Unspoken tension choked the air. Eyes met, sparked, and instantly flicked away. The intimacy, the trust, lay pulverized behind that frosted glass door. He stopped explaining. I stopped asking.
Caught Again
Jenna became verboten. The cold war stretched days. Mark seemed to grasp the gravity, or tried damage control. One evening, he detoured to my favorite florist. Brought home a small bouquet of white daisies. At dinner, he served me, struggling to speak. "Linda… I know the Jenna stuff… bothered you." He paused, weighing words. "Let’s… let’s leave it in the past, okay? Turn the page. From now on… if she asks for coffee or whatever… I’ll refuse. If I can't… I'll tell her it upsets you."
Trust Dies
He glanced up, gaze complex—testing, weary, hinting I've conceded, what more do you want? "Turn the page?" I set my chopsticks down. "How? Pretend nothing happened? Mark, coffee isn't our problem." Barely a week later. I needed a printed quarterly report backup from Jenna's file cabinet. Approaching her office, Mark was inside, back to the door, bent over rummaging behind her massive desk. "You… Jenna? She's in a meeting." His words rushed out. He instinctively hid a small bottle behind his back—a jerky, obvious movement.
NEXT >>
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