Читать книгу Alone: A Love Story - Michelle Parise - Страница 13

I’m reading in bed. Downstairs I hear the now familiar sounds: the pop of a beer cap, the hum of the television, the punctuated laughter that seems forced, as if he is trying desperately to find joy in something. Earlier, I stood in the doorway of the TV room, lingering unnoticed.

“Why don’t you come up to bed with me?”

He didn’t. He never does anymore.

We just celebrated our ninth wedding anniversary. By celebrate I mean we had strained conversation over dinner, where he said he was tired about fifty times. I tried to make him laugh, but his face has turned into a hard piece of stone, his eyes expressionless. Our marriage is stuck. It’s just … there. And festering. He’s motionless, unresponsive. I don’t know what’s happened to him, and it’s making me bitter. Angry. I feel trapped and resigned.

Of course what has happened to him is her. I just don’t know it yet.