The Unfaithful
She went to bed very late that night, distracting herself from thinking and doing her best not to look into his eyes. She waited until he fell asleep to join him in bed. Exhausted, she hoped she would fall asleep as soon as she laid her head on the pillow. In the past few years, she had learned to face her fears, to sit down and talk about the reason behind her sleepless nights and her knotted stomach. But this time was different. The fears were joined by shame and guilt; confrontation was too difficult. The voices in her head were too loud and the burden was too heavy for her to avoid. She managed to lay her head on the pillow without waking him. She looked at him, examining every detail of his face as if she were seeing him for the last time. He looked so peaceful, but why shouldn’t he be? It’s not him that guilt is tearing apart. How could he not see that she was different, she asked herself. She knows how bad she is at hiding things, and she also knows how much he knows her. Maybe he felt something, but he was also afraid of confrontation. If only one of them could break the silence, if only one of them could set them both free.
How could something so wrong feel so right at that moment, how could she do that to him, the only person who was by her side when she was at her lowest? How could she do such a thing to herself when she knew she wouldn’t bear the guilt? Deep down she had the answers, she just didn’t have the guts to say them out loud. He was there throughout the process, he stayed because he cared about her, because even though the time just before it started their passion began to fade, she was still like family to him, she still felt like home. When she was diagnosed, he decided to put all their problems aside and be her rock. She was torn. She didn’t want to go through all this alone, especially without him, and she didn’t want to feel like a burden to him, not at that point when their relationship was already struggling. She asked him to let her deal with it alone, but she was relieved when he decided to stick around. They took on the battle together and on the days she’d give up on herself, he wouldn’t. Although she managed to get through it unscathed, their relationship somehow fell by the wayside. On weekends when she couldn’t get out of bed, he would stay with her, cook her something to eat, and go off to meet friends. She was happy to see him doing things other than looking after her, but she couldn’t help feeling that she was more like a chore to him, something he just had to take care of. It wasn’t what he did, but the way he did it. In the few months she was healing, they grew apart so much that even when she was back on her feet, they continued to live separate lives. The only thing they shared was late dinners in front of the TV watching Friends for the 100th time. They started connecting less and cuddling more, as if they both knew something was broken but had no idea how to fix it, nor the strength to figure it out. She started to get fit again, she went back to work. Thirsty for life, she was after everything that would make her feel alive again. On the list were: Skydiving, a samba course and a lover. The latter was not intended, it just happened.
