written by: Ian Fletcher
“It just happened,” he said, abnegating responsibility to some all-powerful irresistible force.
Happened every week for two years, she thought, cringing at what really occurred during those ‘overtime’ nights.
“I never loved her,” he said.
Or me obviously, she thought.
“It’s over now, anyway,” he said.
Yes, she’s a younger woman who ditched you for another partner, she thought.
“Forgive me,” he groveled, shamed by her eyes which were not judging but merely sad.
She watched a bloated cockroach scurry across the kitchen floor.
I’ll ring a lawyer tomorrow, she thought.
She would get the house at the very least.