These Silent Tears

She feels sick to her stomach as she reads over the messages on her husband's phone. Messages between him and another woman.

This isn't how friends talk to one another.

He sits across from her with a deep crease between his brows, a sigh escaping through his nose.

This feels unfair. She doesn't trust me.

Tears swell up in her eyes as she reads her husband's words to her, "I'll wait for you because you're worth it."

Those were the words he said to me all those years ago.

He pulls a tissue out from the tissue box that sits between them on the table, the sound of a stink bug tapping against the light bulbs above them.

She's been lying to me. And now I'm the bad guy.

A silent tear streams down her cheek, her nose running, her throat closing, but she's unable to move to grab a tissue for herself.

She's not even bi. So this isn't even about me anymore. This is about him.

He grabs another tissue, handing it to her, and watches as she takes it with slow, weak movements before using it on her nose.

If she would just actually try, I know they'd get along really well. She needs a friend.

Unable to keep reading, she closes the app and sets the phone down before sliding it across the table to him. She takes in a breath, the sickness causing her to grip her stomach with both hands now.

Asking them to take a week off from talking was stupid. He still thinks they can go right back to where they left off. He's not listening to me!

He doesn't bother taking the phone. Instead, he just stares at the screen where the time is lit up. 9:45pm.

I'm always the bad guy.

Her breath shakes as she struggles to fill her lungs with the air she desperately needs. Goosebumps rise up on her arms. She feels so cold.

He says he'll never leave me, and I believe him. But hasn't he left me emotionally if he's talking with her like this?

He lets out another sigh, his hands coming up to his forehead as he props his elbows on the table now. With eyes closed, he prays.

God, I feel a connection to this woman just as I do with my wife. Surely this is a sign that she's meant to be in our lives.

There aren't enough tissues. She's used them up so she gets up to go get more from the closet. But every step feels like she's dragging a fifty-pound weight while her stomach continues to churn.

I regret telling him that I'm attracted to other women.

He can't look at her as she returns to the table with a new tissue box. But she doesn't look at him either.

She says our marriage is broken, but I love her more today than I ever have.

She sits down, shoulders slumped, and glances up at him. Deep inside her, there's a longing to go back in time. To stop all of this from ever happening. To tell him that, while the idea of poly sounded interesting, she wasn't ready.

But I did tell him that...I told him so many times. But he kept pushing it. And I stopped trying.

He reaches across the table now, his hand open for hers as his dark brown eyes meet hers for the first time.

I wish I could understand her. I wish I knew what to say to help her.

She takes his hand while her other remains against her stomach, recalling one of the messages the woman sent to him. The one that said, "I don't want to cause any trouble for your marriage."

Then why won't you just go away?