A matter of wife or death

2

Present tense

I lie in the bathtub, my long hair twisted into a neat bun on top of my

head, resembling a baked potato. The warmth of the water surrounds me,

easing the tension in my muscles as I let myself sink further beneath the

surface. I close my eyes, and Ella Fitzgerald's velvety voice fills the air,

coming from the expensive built-in sound system in our bathroom.

"They're writing songs of love, but not for me,

A lucky star's above, but not for me,

With love to lead the way,

I've found more clouds of grey,

Than any Russian play could guarantee..."

The lyrics wash over me as I drift in the soothing warmth, losing track of

time, soaking in the bittersweet melody. I feel weightless as the water

cocoons me in its embrace. Eventually, I push myself up from the water,

letting it cascade down my shoulders. The tub begins to drain with a

satisfying slurp, leaving the air cold against my skin.

The self-heating floor warms the soles of my feet as I step out, my toes

sinking into the soft bath mat. I wrap myself in my luxury Egyptian cotton

Dove Grey robe, the soft fabric clinging to my damp skin. Moving slowly, I

make my way to our ensuite bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamps

creating a serene atmosphere. I sit down on the edge of the bed, sinking

into the plush mattress.

Reaching for my phone, I notice five missed calls. Two from Blue. One

from Cherry. And two from Mum. None from my husband. A sigh escapes

me, heavier than I intended. I pull up his number and dial, my heart

pounding with anticipation as the phone rings. I wait, hoping to hear his

voice, but it rings and rings with no answer.

All of me, why not take all of me,

Can't you see I'm no good without you...

Billie Holiday’s voice floats through the room, her words weaving through

my thoughts. I find myself dancing lightly around the room, swaying to the

music, trying to shake off the growing sense of emptiness. My robe flutters

as I twirl, lost in the rhythm. The happiness feels almost tangible in the air,

fleeting but comforting. I’m spinning when I catch sight of Tom standing

in the doorway, leaning against the frame with that boyish grin plastered on

his face.

"Geez, you scared me!" I say, clutching my robe tighter, arms crossing

instinctively.

"I enjoyed the show," he teases, his eyes gleaming mischievously.

I roll my eyes, smiling despite myself. "It wasn’t for you. It was for me... to

cheer me up," I respond, walking over to the bed. I drop my robe to the

floor and slip on my baby-pink Victoria’s Secret underwear in one fluid

motion. My fingers move quickly as I put on my Pour Les Femmes Queen

Bee printed pyjama set.

"Why do you need cheering up?" Tom asks, stepping closer until he’s

standing between my legs, watching as I rub Dior's body lotion into my

arms and shoulders.

"Like you don’t know," I scoff, feeling my frustration rise as I meet his

gaze. His expression darkens, the air between us becoming tense.

"If I knew, I wouldn’t ask, Ida," he says, my name coming out sharp, like an

insult.

I bite the inside of my cheek, my voice trembling with the weight of my

emotions. "Am I really that irrelevant to you? So inconsequential that you

can leave me for weeks again without a single phone call?" My eyes search

his face for some kind of acknowledgement, but all I see is impatience.

Tom sighs, his hands finding the hem of my shirt, absentmindedly playing

with the buttons. "I’ve told you before, Ida, I’m a—"

"I know what you are, Tom!" I cut him off, the words spilling out of me. "A

Founder, an Entrepreneur, someone with a 'hectic workload.' You’ve made

that very clear. But you could’ve at least called! I was worried..." I trail off,

my voice cracking. I drop my shoulders, the fight draining out of me as I

stand there, vulnerable and exposed.

"Calm down, sweetheart," Tom says, his tone steady, as if he’s trying to

soothe a child.

That’s when my voice shakes, but not from fear— from anger. "Don’t do

that. Don’t patronise me, Tom. What happened to 'what’s yours is mine?'

What happened to sharing our lives, not just material things?"

His eyes flare with frustration, his voice rising. "So the seven-thousand-

pound-a-month apartment means nothing? The half-dozen designer

handbags I bought you mean nothing?" He snaps, pulling away from me.

I follow him into the living room, my footsteps quick as the tears burn

behind my eyes. "I don’t mean the stuff, Tom! I thought you’d open up, that

we’d talk, that you'd call me! I was worried— I am worried!" I shout, my

voice rising, my chest tightening with each word.

Tom rubs a hand over his face, his expression weary. "Things came up, Ida.

You know how it is."

I shake my head, feeling the tears finally spill over. "What’s more important

than us? What’s more important than keeping this... this love alive? Tom, I

feel like I don’t even know you anymore!" My voice cracks again, heavy

with desperation.

"You know what?" He snaps, his words biting. "I can’t do this right now.

I’ll talk to you when you’ve calmed down." Without another glance, he

grabs his coat and storms toward the front door.

xxiPanic rises in my chest as I follow him, my feet moving faster than my

thoughts. I yank off my wedding ring and throw it at him, the metal

clinking against the hallway floor.

Tom stops, bending down to pick up the ring. His hand hovers there for a

moment, but by the time he looks up, I’ve already slammed the apartment

door behind me, locking it.

"Open the f*****g door, Ida! You’re acting like a child!" I hear him shout

through the door, his voice thick with frustration.

I press my forehead against the cold wood, whispering, "Tom, you don’t

love me, do you?"

There’s a pause, a silence that stretches out like an eternity. Then, his voice

comes low and sharp. "You think I’d be doing all this if I didn’t love you?"

I unlock the door, and he walks in, slamming it behind him. His eyes meet

mine, filled with anger and something deeper, something raw. Before I can

say anything, his lips crash against mine, fast and urgent. I don’t resist. I let

him take me, my body yielding to him.

"This is what you want, isn’t it?" Tom growls, his hands roaming as he lifts

me, pressing me against him. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist,

breathless from the intensity.

"Yes," I whisper, barely audible. I know it’s not enough— this physical

connection can’t fill the void I feel inside. But right now, I’ll take what I can

get.

He lays me down on the bed, his kisses growing hungrier, more possessive.

His hands explore every inch of me as if he’s trying to claim me all over

again. I let him, my mind swirling with emotion.

Tom pauses only to grab a condom, his body trembling with need as he

tears open the foil. When he enters me, it’s fast, without warning, and I

stifle a scream, biting my lip as the sensation overwhelms me.

xxii"Deeper, Tom," I plead, my voice barely above a whisper as I arch my

back, wanting more, needing more than just the physical release.

Tom complies, thrusting deeper, harder, until the tension between us snaps

and we’re both lost in the storm. His lips silence my cries as he moves with

more intensity, his breath ragged.

In the aftermath, as he pulls out and collapses beside me, the silence

returns. He wipes the sweat from my brow, his lips brushing my forehead

in a tender gesture. I curl into him, the satin duvet pulled over us, but the

warmth that fills the room feels fleeting, fragile.

"I love you, Tom," I whisper, my voice soft.

"I love you too, Ida," he responds, kissing my forehead. But even as we lie

there, tangled in each other’s arms, I can’t shake the feeling that something

is slipping away.