The Lawyers Redemption: Redeeming Honor

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Honor

The first week of Greg's promotion was him preparing me for how busy he was about to be. He brought home flowers and chocolates, and even came home early one day to make dinner for me.

“You need to relax as much as you can before I get really busy. There’s probably going to be a party too. I’ll let you know when. I know you’ve met Georde and Smith, but you haven’t met Hays yet. I was wondering if you could start making my breakfast a little earlier. I want to go into the office earlier than usual, so they know how dedicated I am and to show they didn’t make a mistake by choosing me.”

“Sure,” I said, as I ate the chicken he made. It was dry, but I didn’t complain. I wanted the last meal that he cooked for me to be somewhat pleasant. I was about to move more things out, and if he noticed, he might explode, and then I'd have to explain what I heard, and I was just not ready for that conversation.

Over the next week, I slowly moved my things from Greg’s house to my condo. I started with my books, my cookware, and a set of cutlery. He doesn’t notice, he’s too busy enjoying his new success. Then I started taking more and more of my clothes out. Again, he is too busy to see what is happening right in front of his face.

Since he's won the case, he’s been getting calls left and right for his services. He’s ecstatic. Comes home talking about his day with enthusiasm. They did have a party for his promotion. I went, smiled, and made small talk. Met Hays, who looked me up and down and told Greg he better hang onto me, because I was smokin’. Thanks, Hays.

I haven’t cooked anything for his lunches. I've just been giving him sub sandwiches that I’ve bought from the local grocery store. They aren’t made with variety. I’ve just been alternating between salami, turkey, roast beef, and chicken, and some chips. I no longer want to cook for him, and I don’t put notes in his lunch bag anymore.

I haven’t texted him anything unnecessary. I only reply when he texts me. I haven't called. When he comes home, I don’t rush to him to ask how his day was anymore. I just puttered around the kitchen until dinner was ready, which again is not my usual fare. Regular spaghetti and garlic bread. A roast and mashed potatoes. Tacos, and sometimes breakfast for dinner.

He hasn’t noticed we haven’t had s*x in six weeks, or if he has, he hasn’t said anything. I remembered the last time. It was the day he was assigned the case and told it would be the deciding factor in his promotion. He was so happy, and I was happy for him. All his hard work was finally paying off. And then, he was just too busy. Then Lucy butt dialed me, and I heard the complaints straight from his mouth. You don’t just fall out of love with someone you’ve been with for the last three years. The first man who took all your firsts.

I’ve turned into someone I don’t even recognize anymore. I didn’t make the dress I created into the two colors I wanted. I haven’t even looked at the dress that I was so proud of.

Lately, I’ve been making sure I was up before he was. I made a breakfast casserole for the week, cut it into portions, and put the containers in the fridge. Then I make sure I’m gone before he comes down. I only come back when I know he’s gone. Now the only time he sees me is when he occasionally comes home for dinner.

He wasn’t wrong when he said he was about to become busy. With all the new clients he’s gotten, he’s been busier than ever, so I’m surprised when he puts down his fork, takes my hand tonight, and tells me he’s taking tomorrow off.

“Why?” I asked, maybe with a little more attitude than I should have.

“I guess I deserve that. I’ve been really busy, and I’ve been neglecting you. I thought maybe we could go to the beach and have a relaxing day. Spend the whole day away from work stress and just focus on each other. I miss you.”

“Really? I thought you needed space,” I said.

“What? No, why would you think that? I’ve just been busy.”

“Right. I’m pretty busy myself. Weddings are going on around this time, and I have a lot of bachelorette parties booked. So I won’t be home until late myself most days.”

He stared at me. Probably waiting for me to agree to the beach. I took a deep breath. Maybe I should. One last time.

“Yeah, if that’s what you want. We can sleep in, and then I’ll pack some food and drinks. We can be at the beach by ten.”

His smile was beautiful. He always did have a great smile.

“Tomorrow night, do you think you can make some chopped steak and potatoes with garlic green beans? We haven’t had that in a while.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“And could I get something other than a square of breakfast casserole when I go back to work. I think I’ve had that for eight days straight.”

“Anything else?” Oh, mighty lord. What can this humble maid do for you? Yes, I was being f*****g dramatic. First, he complains that I cook too much, now it’s not enough.

“I was hoping I could get more variety in my lunches,” he mumbled.

“Don’t you want to go out to eat?”

He looked at me with a raised brow. He stared for a long time. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

“I mean, sometimes I will. But I’ll let you know on those days.”

“Will you now? That’s so generous of you.”

“Babe, are you okay?” he asked, looking as confused as ever.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I feel like I am missing something.”

I shoved more food into my mouth. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted to give him the space he said he wanted. Hell, it’s been two weeks since he won the case. And he hadn’t noticed anything different but his food. That’s what he noticed. If he’s noticed anything else, he hasn’t brought it up.

“That sounds like a you problem. I’m going to go take a bath.”

I got up from the table without clearing my dish. I just walked away. Why? Because I was seconds away from stabbing him with my fork. He wants variety in his food now, but didn’t he say he wants to eat out sometimes? Those could be his days of variety.

They say when a woman is done, she doesn’t scream, make a scene, or beg. She becomes silent, numb. Hearing the words that he said did something to me. I no longer felt joy. I faked everything just to hide how I’m really feeling. I honestly just wanted to find somewhere quiet and sleep for like ten years. Maybe I did need a trip, just somewhere by myself. Something to think about. I went to the closet and grabbed a nightshirt and sleeping shorts. Something I’ve started doing instead of just sleeping in my underwear, another thing he hasn’t seemed to notice. I filled the tub and added lavender oil. I locked the bathroom door and stripped. I slipped into the tub and relaxed. I let the tears fall down my face. I didn’t sob out my heartbreak because I knew that wouldn’t do anything but alert him that something was wrong, and then I’d have to hear the excuses of why he said what he did, and I just wasn’t up to hearing it. I would most likely say something both of us would regret.

I think what hurts the most is that he complained about me to his colleagues. People I knew who didn’t hesitate to defend me. Even they knew what he was saying was ridiculous. I was a good woman. I showed love through acts of service and verbalization. I’m sorry if that’s too much.

The bathroom doorknob rattled.

“Babe, why did you lock the door?”

Maybe because I needed some space. I didn’t answer.

I just sank lower until the water engulfed me. I held my breath and counted. When I hit fifteen seconds, I was pretty impressed with myself and held it a little longer. By twenty-five, I came up for air, gasping. The door suddenly slammed open.

I screamed.

“f**k Honor, why didn’t you answer me?”

“What the f**k, Greg? I didn’t hear you, I was under the water.”

“Well, you scared me. When you didn’t answer, I thought you fell or something.”

“Seriously? Am I a f*****g child? Don’t you think this is a little much? You’re being so daddish,” I snapped.

“Honor,” he said, shocked, and what looked like hurt came across his face. I’m sure it did hurt. But at least I said it to him face-to-face, not behind his back to my friends.

“Just get out, let me finish my bath.”

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

Did my words not register with him? They were literally almost the same words he said about me.

I gave a dry laugh. “No, Greg, I’m not mad.” I am just done.