silence fell between them. she sensed his anger.
once again, he got up out of bed in silence. In silence, he dressed and in silence, he walked out to the living room.
this time, something had to be different. their separation hadn’t changed anything. he was content. he didn’t have to do anything different. he hadn’t made room for her in his life. he didn’t care for her heart and she had given it all. the status quo was beyond painful, and now, unsustainable.
she needed to speak this time, to stand up for herself.
courage came. she steadied her voice and spoke: “i don’t feel very loved when you leave the room when we have things to sort out.” her words were strong, gentle and calm.
there, she’d said it. lying in bed, she waited for a response, hopeful. it came, but not the one she’d desired.
that mocking spirit rose up in him. it spoke out loud, addressing the dog. “did you hear that, rascal? she doesn’t feel loved.”
she lay in the bed, drawing the covers up closer around her. she waited, giving him time and a wide berth to do the right thing.
minutes later, she heard him get up from the couch. he walked back into the bedroom and lay down again on the other side of the bed. it might have been miles for the chill she felt from him.
she waited. it was his move now, not hers. not anymore. she waited for him to move closer to her, to invite her into his arms.
she waited for him to say he was sorry this one time. it didn’t come.
instead, he got up in silence and walked back out to the living room. he sat down in the same place on the couch.
waiting again, she gave him more time to choose well, to make a different choice. it didn’t come. the game was on. she wasn’t playing.
she got up and dressed. refusing to give in to anger, frustration or accusations, she walked to the living room, too.
walking to the door, she unlocked the door handle and deadbolt. she turned around, going to the kitchen to gather the items she’d purchased earlier.
her arms full, she walked to the middle of the room and looked at him with love in her eyes. holding back tears, she asked him, “Is there anything you’d like to say to me before i walk out the door?” she hoped, praying for a different outcome than the familiar one that had played so often.
he was on his feet now as she spoke, going toward the door. his anger was no longer contained. “no, I think you’ve said enough for both of us.” he had opened the door, but not as a courtesy. he was throwing her out without words. again.
she looked at him, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze.
she felt no fear, just great sadness as she walked over the threshold of the door. the wind of the slamming door blew across her back.
immediately, she heard papa speak in her heart. “now, he must come to you.”
there would be no going back now. he had choices to make.
(copyright 2016 jane doe)