Trousers

I'm sitting at the table, tapping my foot against the floor rhythmically, my teeth gnawing at the inside of my cheek. I look desperately at my watch. It's ten past eleven.

He should be home by now.

I briefly consider calling him. I haven't yet. I want to, but I don't think that I should. I don't think it will help. His answering machine won't give me any solace, and even if he did pick up, what would he say? What would I say? Instead, I'll just wait. He's going to come home eventually. All of his things are here...

All of his things, and one thing that doesn't belong.

I made dinner. I was hoping that maybe he just had to run some errands and that he would still come home. It's sitting, cold, on the table. Two plates left out for us. I had to keep busy. I had to do something. I couldn't just keep staring at the pair of trousers on the counter and think about how everything might be over...

The pair of trousers that my husband left neatly folded on the countertop. The pair of trousers that he found in our bedroom after coming home from his trip. The pair of trousers that do not belong to him.

The clock ticks loudly in my ears.

My fingers itch for my phone, but I leave it alone. I can't talk to him about this over the phone, and he won't want to talk to me. I can talk to him once he gets home. We can figure this out. I can explain. Maybe the trousers are innocent. Maybe they're from a family member, or maybe I bought them as a gift, or maybe something else, something completely innocent, something that isn't that, that they don't belong to another man that stayed with his wife. That it's not like that. That it's not what he thinks.

But it is what he thinks.

But he can forgive me. I can tell him the truth, and he can forgive me. We will sit for dinner and I will explain everything. I'll heat it up and maybe he'll sit quietly at first, but I'll beg him to stay for a minute, to let me go through it, and he'll forgive me. I'll promise it won't happen again. I'll tell him how drunk I was, how I regretted it. I'll exaggerate if I have to... We'll have dinner, and I'll explain, and we'll go to bed tonight, together. If we can just get past it, if he can just forgive–

The sound of keys rattling outside cuts off my thoughts. The bolt unlocks with a click, the knob turns, and the door opens. I let in a sharp inhale, and my breath holds.

My husband enters the apartment.

He staggers a little, and my nose wrinkles at the smell. He doesn't drink often, but he can hold it well. I wonder how long he spent at the bar. If he was alone or with friends. Maybe he was alone but a young woman came up to him to buy him a drink, to listen to his marital problems, to put her hand on his thigh–

Stop.

He doesn't look at me. He puts his keys on the rung, and his jacket on the coat rack. He fixes his collar, and briefly looks at the food, without skipping a beat, and his dead expression doesn't change.

I open my mouth, about to say how I made food, that he should sit, that we should talk, but the words don't come out. My tongue can't find the strength to shape them.

He crosses the room, and goes to the hall, without looking at me. My legs feel like jelly. This is the man that used to bring home kisses, honey's, and flowers. A man whose first instinct when he got home was to kiss his wife, to hold her, to profess how much he missed her all day while he was just at work...

He's unrecognizable now.

My feet carry me, but I'm not sure how. I don't remember making the decision to follow him. I was just up, trying not to stumble. He's going to the bedroom, and he opens the door. This will be good. I can come in with him. We can talk there. I can tell him everything... I can beg on my knees. I can tell him how much I love him, how much I need him, how much I–

He's a foot into the bedroom. He stops and turns around. He has one hand on the door, and he looks directly in my eyes.

There is no hatred there, no anger. But his dark eyes are like a void, an emptiness where his love used to be. His jaw is hard, clenched, and his lips move ever so slightly, into a thin line.

I stare, d0e-eyed. Hopeful. Please. Let me in.

He blinks.

The door shuts between us.

I hope you enjoyed this! I didn't plan it out exactly, but it was something to post anyway... A betrayal. Perhaps I could visit the other side of the story as well.

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