I've dreamed of the perfect marriage ever since I was a little girl: a marriage complete with a hardworking husband while I tended to the home and our children, preferably four little rugrats to call my own. I dreamed of a life filled with laughter...
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The sound of shattering glass and a piercing scream startles me, forcing me to look away from the brilliant blue eyes that have bewitched me from the very first time I saw them all those years ago.
What was that?
Looking down, I find broken glass all around my feet. A broken sob, feeble and filled with pain, cries from behind me, making my stomach drop. I know exactly who I'll find standing there. Hesitantly, I look, wishing I had exercised some forethought when Abigail asked if she could speak to me in private.
Charlotte stands in the doorway; her body is hunched and trembles, and for a brief moment I think maybe she's just cold, which would be a simple fix for a simple problem, not a more complex problem like hearing your husband confess his love for another woman. It's a fool's dream, of course. My brain immediately snaps back to reality when it finally processes the endless tears staining her cheeks and the depth of despair buried deep within her stunning, chocolate eyes. My wife stands frozen at the door as another woman is cradled in my arms, a woman who I had just confessed I would leave my wife for.
What have I done?
"Charlotte," I say, but I don't think she hears me. She's looking at her hand now in confusion as more tears drip from her chin to the floor.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
She looks confused, lost, destroyed. I've never seen this kind of emotion coming from my wife before. She's always been so perfectly poised, a wife a man of my station needs by his side.
How much did she hear?
Charlotte spins and walks away without saying a word. Her footsteps echo down the hall as she gains distance between us.
"Charlotte!" I shout, taking a step to chase after her. We need to talk. I need to explain. She needs to understand. I'm almost to the door when Abigail's pained cry stops me in my place, keeping me from pursuing my runaway wife.
"Ouch! Oh, Daniel. I'm hurt." Abigail is leaning over with her left foot supported by her right hand. Blood, thick and dark, oozes from the delicate pale skin of her foot and drips, landing in a red pool on the floor.
Without hesitation, I stalk towards her, concerned and determined, and lift her into my arms bridal style. "Let's get you to the bathroom before you bleed all over my father's office, sweetheart."
"It's a good thing we aren't kids anymore. He'd tan our hides for soiling his precious, one-of-a-kind Persian rug!" Abigail giggles as her grip on my neck tightens. Her sweet scent of apricot and vanilla sends a wave of memories crashing through my mind: kissing her for the first time, confessing our love for each other for the first time, swaying together at prom while planning our entire lives together.
My chest tightens in pain at a life so carelessly discarded by the very woman who promised me everything all those years ago--promises she, instead, gave to another man, a man who could never have loved her the way I had loved her.
