Page 5 of Everlasting Vows

I sigh as my computer screen goes black. I really lucked out when I got this job five years ago. Prudence was in her senior year and didn’t need me around before and after school, and Murphy was already serving in the army, so I figured it was time to find full-time work after working part-time in a real estate office. My boss, Simon, knew I wanted more hours but couldn’t offer them to me at the time. He also knew his college friend, Jase, was looking for someone to fill a secretarial position here, so I applied for the job. It was hard to leave Simon because he was fantastic to work for and very flexible when it came to the kids and the responsibilities that come with being a mother who was the primary carer more often than not. But it was time to move on, and I haven’t looked back.

My mind wanders as I drive home through peak-hour traffic. Now that I don’t have work as a distraction, my thoughts turn to this morning and Nix’s expression when I asked for a divorce. He seemed shell-shocked, but he did a good job of pretending everything was okay for Prue. God, I can’t believe our baby is getting married. It seems like yesterday we brought her home from the hospital. Life is passing by so fast, which is why I need to live mine instead of fading into the shadows and going through the motions.

I pull into the garage, unsurprised to find it empty, and climb out of my car. Nix insisted on buying this property on the edge of the city because of the extra land. He didn’t want to have neighbors on our doorstep, but it takes over an hour to drive home on a good traffic day. Today was not a good traffic day. Glancing at the time, I wince. I’d better start dinner.

Without changing out of my work clothes, I wash my hands and gather the ingredients I need. I dice and roast the yams and cook the chicken, onions, and mushrooms. I’ve barely eaten today, and the cooking smells set off my stomach, so I press my hand against it. Once the chicken mixture is cooked, I prepare the pearl couscous, then mix everything together. Nix and the kids love this dish, and it’s pretty quick and easy to make, as well as making great leftovers.

I set the table for two and dish up two plates, then place them in the warmer until Nix arrives. I check the time, and my stomach tightens. He should be home any minute. I’m not looking forward to the discussion he wants to have—the one we desperately need to have. The timing couldn’t be worse with Prue’s upcoming wedding.

How could I have known she’d announce her engagement this morning?

The people-pleaser in me wants to revoke my words to keep the peace until after the wedding. But if I’m being honest, there will never be a good time for something as huge as separating lives that have been intertwined for decades. Dread curls in my stomach when I think about my future without Nix by my side. Not that he’s been by my side for most of our marriage.

I let things slide and learned how to cope when he was serving in the army. How could I expect more from him when he was away most of the time? He doted on us and gave us every minute of his time whenever he was home. He gave us everything he could whenever he was with us, and it was enough to fill the gaping holes he left each time he was deployed.

The problem lies with me; I expected more from him once he retired from the army and was with us full-time. And, well, things didn’t happen the way I’d imagined. I tried to drop hints, but they always fell on deaf ears.

I watch the sky as dusk paints it with slashes of peach and fuchsia. Dropping my gaze lower, I try to envision what we can do to make our stark backyard beautiful for Prue’s wedding. We had so many plans, but Nix got busy with his business, and it’s still as bare as it was when we moved in. Sitting at the table, listening to the seconds and minutes tick by on my grandmother’s old-fashioned wall clock, my blood heats and temper boils. He wanted to talk this morning. Now, when we have the time, he’s nowhere to be found.

Typical.

Minutes march on, and the sky changes to deep blue and purple. Sitting in the now-dark kitchen, my anger turns to disappointment, and disappointment finally turns to acceptance. This is how it is now. This is why I asked for a divorce. And why I have to build a life without him. I can’t let guilt get in the way and steal away more of my life.

It’s clear I don’t matter to Nix. Not anymore.

Everything else is always more important than me and our marriage.

Sighing, I push away from the table and head to our bedroom to change out of my work clothes. Dejection is my companion as I make my way down the hallway, change, and choose my outfit for work tomorrow. I wash my makeup off, lather on moisturizer to combat the dryness of my skin since I started perimenopause, and tie my hair up.

My eyes drop to our bed, and I drag my fingers along Nix’s cold pillow, and better, happier times roll across my mind like a movie reel. Times we shared in this bed—sexy times and times of quiet discussion and connection. Times when we shared our thoughts, hopes, and dreams.

I can’t remember the last time he slept here. He says he doesn’t want to disturb me with his restlessness, but I hear him cry out from the guest room in the middle of the night when I’m struggling to stay asleep. It’s more than the restlessness he battles in his dreams. I know he has night terrors from his time in the Rangers, but he won’t let me in to help. He never lets me in.

It seems like a lifetime ago things were great between us. Even though he spent a lot of time overseas on deployments, we made our relationship work. We made up for lost time when he was home. Effort was put in on both sides.

When did it stop?

I can’t place a moment or think of an event that signaled the beginning of the end. It’s not like we had a huge argument—hell, we don’t even fight anymore—we’d have to communicate in some capacity to argue. The distance between us grew in small, quiet, incremental ways over time. It occurred during moments when we didn’t reach for each other. He didn’t kiss me when he arrived home. And all those nights I fell asleep alone in our bed while he chose to sleep in the guest room. It was missed dinners and lost opportunities to enjoy a glass of wine and watch the sunset on the back porch. It was skipping movie marathons together in lieu of overnight security jobs. It was not being swept into his arms and dancing in the kitchen to our own music. There were no secret smiles or quickies in the bathroom when the kids were occupied. No sweet text messages throughout the day and certainly no meaningful conversation. Small and big gestures of affection disappeared. I can’t remember the last time he wrapped me up in his arms and kissed my neck.

God, I miss him. Miss us.

It’s like we’re housemates, not husband and wife.

Sadness washes over me for everything we’ve lost.

We started with such promise and hope for a long, happy life together. We were each other’s firsts in every way, and we promised to put each other first in all things for the rest of our lives. Unfortunately, that only works when both parties make the effort to do so. Nix hasn’t put me first since retiring from the army and starting his business. It’s his number one priority. Here I am, the dutiful wife and mother, always available for my family, yet I’m not given the same level of consideration.

This morning, Nix seemed like he wanted to fix this. But where is he now?

Why am I home alone—once again—ruminating over our marriage? I bet he hasn’t given us a second thought today. It’s like once I’m out of sight, I’m out of his mind. The thought is painful, tightening my gut and curdling my stomach. His care factor is obviously zero. Otherwise, he would make the effort to be home.

I stomp back down the hall to clear the table. Tossing the cutlery noisily into the drawer doesn’t stem my ire, nor does slamming it closed. Grabbing our plates, I scrape the food into the trash and rinse the plates, then stack the dishwasher and set it to wash. Yanking open the cupboard above the counter, I grab a glass and pour myself some wine, then make my way into my craft room. I may as well put my pent-up anger to good use.

I stop at the doorway, my eyes landing on the piles of yarn and the already overflowing tubs. Nix promised to source a storage unit for me so I could clean up in here. Unsurprisingly, he’s been too busy. I sip my wine and set it on my craft table pushed up against the wall beneath the window that looks out to the driveway. At least I’ll see his headlights as he approaches the house.

As I gather half-used balls of yarn and sort them by color, my blood boils in my veins, and I’m ready to lose my ever-loving mind the second Nix walks through the door.

How dare he not show up for dinner? Not show up for us!