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“I’m sorry to intrude, but I need clothes. Are you coming to work?”
“You fired me.”
“I was angry. Please don’t leave me,” he pleads from the doorway.
“I’m just an object to you. One month and you get what you want. You don’t have to play husband any longer.”
“I want to be your husband, not play husband. I don’t want this to end.”
“It has to—I’m not happy. I think I was deluding myself into believing this was more than it really was.”
Foster takes a few steps toward me. “And what was it?”
“A business deal, nothing more. We shared a few tender moments, but that was all. The vacation to Turks and Caicos was one of the happiest of my life.”
“It wasn’t a vacation; it was our second honeymoon.”
“Whatever it was, it made me happy. You made me happy at the time, but you changed.”
“I can be that man again, just give me a chance,” he begs.
“I can’t. My heart hurts too much.”
“You can stay in the guest room. I promise not to bother you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Foster’s shoulders slump as he heads into the closet. Our misery hangs over us like a dark cloud, threatening to release a torrent of acid rain. Sitting on the bed, I chew on my nails while he searches for an outfit to wear. I am in no condition to go to work, and I tell him so when he steps out of the closet, black suit in hand.
Foster chews on his lip before asking, “Are you moving out?”
“I haven’t decided. I need time to think. I’ll keep up this little charade until after our anniversary; then we can figure out a way to end this before I lose my mind.”
“I don’t want it to end.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
He sighs, nods defeatedly, and leaves the room. I stay on the bed while listening to him, get ready for work. The scents of the morning tickled my nose—the aroma of coffee, a whiff of his cologne, and the mint toothpaste he used to brush his teeth. Forty minutes later, Foster is gone, off to work to play master of the universe.
I go back to sleep, pulling the knitted white blanket at the end of the bed over my curled body.
I spend the rest of the day hunting for an apartment and a new job. Once I separate from Foster, I don’t want to be dependent on my brother again. I don’t need to since I have money in the bank, but I also won’t be getting the five hundred thousand at the end of our marriage or the apartment outlined in the contract. Though I previously thought Foster would follow through no matter what, I’m not so sure now. It was time for me to be independent.
I eat very little, my stomach roiling with anxiety. Foster doesn’t roll into the penthouse until after ten, but when he does, he is drunk and stumbling into the wall of the foyer. He gives me a weak smile when he sees me.
“There’s my wife,” he slurs, “but she doesn’t love me anymore.”
“Oh, Foster, I wish it was that cut and dried.”
“Why don’t you love me?”
“I’m not doing this while you’re drunk. Where did you go?”
“Nowhere! I spent the night in my office enjoying a thousand-dollar bottle of brandy. Was a gift from some… colleague.”
Foster teeters toward me where I am near the kitchen, and I inch away, putting the island between us.
“You never answered my question. Why don’t you love me?”
