We Need to Talk

I walk into the dark room. He’s sat there in the corner, the lamp light illuminating his face.

The words “we need to talk” reluctantly leave his lips.

My mind racing, whirring, what could we need to talk about?

Has he slept with someone? That bitch Denise from work? The one with the legs that go all the way up to her eyebrows. I knew their friendship was too good to be true. Was I a fool to trust him spending time alone with her? She’s gorgeous. Who could blame him? I couldn’t compete with that. I bet she could do things for him that I never could. Maybe he would be better off with her.

Or does he want to talk about the holiday we planned for the summer? Hawaii. It was going to be so much fun. But it would cost a lot of money. Is it too expensive? Is he having second thoughts? Maybe he wants to do something different. What if he would prefer to go skiing? Somewhere in Europe? I was really looking forward to that holiday.

What if he’s having doubts about having kids? I mean we haven’t officially started trying yet but it is definitely in the pipeline. As soon as he gets his promotion, he promised. When we could afford to live comfortably, support our children, send them to college. Is he having doubts about his ability as a father? Or me? What if I won’t be a good mother? Perhaps he knows that already, and he is trying to back out before I get too invested.

Did he lose his job? He’s been waiting for this promotion for years. Did he finally crack under the pressure and quit? He does deserve better recognition, more appreciation. He works his ass off for those people. But would he just quit without telling me? I’m supposed to be his partner. How will we live on just my salary? How will we pay the mortgage? Will we figure it out? I really don’t want to move, I’ve only just unpacked our last box after four years.

Is he just unhappy? Am I not enough anymore. Is our relationship over after ten years of marriage? I really don’t want a divorce.

Our eyes meet across the room. Tears in mine, plaguing myself with what this could be about. He opens his mouth to speak once again. Quieter this time, more apologetic.

“I ruined your favourite pink sweater in the washing. I’m sorry”.

 

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Picture Credit.

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