Dusk. Her favorite time of day. Anne poured a glass of wine, and walked out onto the balcony. The view of Central Park was always breathtaking. She never tired of it. Wrapped her favorite shawl around her shoulders. The air was delightfully cool. Her last night alone.

Hank was returning from Antarctica tomorrow. She shivered thinking about it. He had invited her to accompany him on the trip; “However, I know you don’t like cold weather.”

Actually, she did like cold weather, but Antarctica held no allure for her. The trip seemed way too challenging, and coincidentally, Anne was asked to visit a new facility in London. Tonight, she relished time for a bit of reflection.

Hank. They met thirty years ago, first day at her job in the newsroom. The chatty office assistant took Anne around the office to meet her colleagues. The assistant had a bit of under-her-breath commentary on several in the group, “She’s pregnant but hasn’t told the boss. He’s dating his secretary. A no-no.” Then she nodded towards Hank, “Cold as ice. No personality.”

Anne saw a rather attractive man with steely blue eyes.

The following weekend, Anne was browsing in a bookstore, and saw Hank. She was surprised when he recognized her. They chatted a minute about books. She walked out of the bookstore, and headed to the nearby popular coffee shop.

“May I join you?” She was startled to see he had followed her.

“Of course, please do.” She smiled, a little nervously.

Thus, it began. They kept their relationship secret. Moved in together six months later, “Let’s see how compatible we are before moving forward,” she laughingly said to him.

“Oh, we’re compatible.” He picked her up and carried her to bed. It was a Sunday. They stayed in bed all day.

He was always so attentive. They were quietly married the following year. Announced it to their work colleagues. Even the nosy office assistant was shocked. Within a few months, Hank was offered a promotion/transfer to a new
department.

Several months into their marriage, she awoke one morning to find him gone from their apartment. She figured he went for an early morning run, but surprised he left no note and no brewed coffee for her. After several hours, Anne went from worry to anger, and finally to panic.

When Hank did show up very late that evening, Anne was too exhausted to discuss her terrible day. Choking back tears, she spat out, “We WILL get to the bottom of this in the morning.”

The next morning, he brought her breakfast in bed, “I am so, so sorry. I needed to clear my head. The time got away from me.” She did not pursue it. Maybe afraid of his response?

A pattern developed. Several times a year, Hank would shut her out of his life—for a day or several days. He wouldn’t talk to her, stayed in his home office, and came to bed after she was asleep. For years, she blamed herself. Begged him for a response. None was ever given. They would go back to their quiet, happy life together. No hint of cold aloofness. She could almost pretend it didn’t happen. Almost.

Once, she brought up the situation to him in hopes of preventing another unhappy period. She suggested counseling for them. “Anne, I love you more than I ever believed I could love anyone. At times, I wonder if I should have remained alone, but I would have missed you and our life together.” He hugged her tightly.

Eventually, Anne learned how to handle Hank’s treatment of her. She met friends, took mini vacations to visit her sister. It did little to diminish her unhappiness. Away from Hank, she always vowed to ask for a divorce unless he resolved to change and seek help.

I’ll tell him I cannot live like this, always worrying about the next rejection. Didn’t she deserve better? Then back home, she would lose her resolve. Most of the time, she loved their life together. We complement each other.

The London trip turned out to be an eye-opener for Anne. Or maybe it was just time. Her time. She met a man at the company dinner. There was instant chemistry. They spent the week together. Laughing, talking, touring the sights, enjoying late night dinners. There was no sex. She wanted to wait and sort out her life. He understood. They planned to meet in New York in a month.

Anne’s time in London made it perfectly clear to her. She needed to end her marriage, even if nothing came of this fling. The days of coldness from Hank were over.

 

Rosanne Trost is a retired oncology research nurse. She resides in Houston, Texas. Since retirement, she has developed her passion for creative writing. Her work has appeared in a variety of print and online journals, including Chicken Soup for the Soul, Months To Years, Commuter Lit and RavensPerch.