“You couldn’t stand the thought of her doing
laundry, you felt sorry for her. Fine. But why
did you have to give her MY job to make
L
The emotions I’d suppressed for months
finally erupted. Even though I was done with
him, the betrayal stung.
“Did you ever think about what would happen
to me without a job? How I’d look to everyone
in the neighborhood?” Tears streamed down
my face.
Of course, he knew. But compared to Sarah’s
struggles, mine were insignificant.
Seeing me cry, Mark finally panicked. “You
don’t have to work. It’s better for you to be at
home.”
“I’m your husband, I can provide for you.”
I laughed bitterly. If staying home was so
great, why did he give my job away? And how
<
could he provide for me when he gave most
of our money to another woman? If not
starving to death was his definition of
“providing,” then sure, he was right. But why
should I sacrifice everything to become a
pawn in his game of guilt and misplaced
affection? Why should I accept a two–faced
husband who gave away our livelihood and
clearly didn’t care about me?
Before David died, I really thought I’d married
well. Mark’s parents were kind and
welcoming. Mark was the man every girl
wanted. Handsome, good family, charming.
After we married, he entrusted me with
everything. I honestly believed I had a good
husband. But then David died, and Mark
started lying about the factory’s finances,
claiming his salary had been cut. It was all a
lie to funnel money to Sarah. When I found
<
out and confronted him, he blamed me for
Sarah losing her laundry job, and then,
without my consent, he fired me and gave her
my position. The neighbors, seeing him run
around for Sarah, praised him for being such
a good friend. Yes, he was certainly very
attentive to his friend’s widow. The
frightening thing was, in his mind, he was
justified. He was simply taking care of his
friend’s wife. My protests, my pointed
questions, were just unreasonable outbursts.
It’s not the lack of right and wrong that’s
scary. It’s the self–deception. But thankfully, I
didn’t care anymore. If he wanted to take
care of, and clearly had feelings for, another
man’s wife, so be it.
Sarah arrived while Mark and I were lying in
bed, a hand’s width apart.
<
“Mark, Lily has a fever. I… what should I do?”
She looked worried, but her red dress, camel
coat, and carefully styled hair suggested
she’d put a lot of effort into her appearance.
“Wait, I’ll be right there,” Mark said, grabbing
his jacket and heading for the door, not even
bothering with a scarf. Sarah watched him,
even reaching out to adjust his collar. Then
she looked at me, a smug, triumphant glint in
her eye. As Mark was putting on his shoes,
she hesitantly tugged at his sleeve.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, confused.
Sarah glanced at me, then back at Mark, a
conflicted look on her face. “I… it’s okay. I
don’t want Lucy to misunderstand…” Tears
welled up in her eyes as she turned and
walked away.
