wife and my secrets

First Attempt

I had never lost my temper in front of my wife before, and this was the first time I had broken anything in her presence. As I grew accustomed to the darkness, I could make out her silhouette in the dim light outside the window. She curled up on the bed, hugging herself tightly like a wounded kitten.

The guilt gnawed at me, leaving me unsure of what to do. I wanted to embrace her and apologize, but whenever I reached out, she pulled away, her eyes guarded and vigilant.

Annoyed and frustrated, I was angered by the fact that she thought I would harm her, that the trust between us had evaporated, reducing us to two strangers on the defensive. Instead of reaching out, I vented my anger by punching the wall. The impact created a loud noise, but I couldn't feel the pain. I picked up the clothes strewn on the ground, turned around, and left the room.

I don't know if she sensed my distress or if she was frightened by my actions that night. As soon as the door closed, piercing cries emanated from within the room.

Leaning against the door, I listened to her weeping, but I couldn't enter to comfort her or wipe away her tears. I was helpless. I wondered how we had reached this point, where our relationship stood today. I crouched down, burying my head in my hands, trying to escape the reality of what had transpired.

Her crying persisted throughout the night, growing hoarse with each passing moment. I lay awake on the couch, the mournful sobs echoing in my ears and penetrating my thoughts. No matter how much I covered my ears, the weight of guilt remained.

Afterward, my life returned to a semblance of normalcy and cleanliness. I stopped visiting bars and drinking excessively. We ceased fighting, and life regained a veneer of calmness. I still loved her, and I knew she loved me. We both made efforts to salvage our relationship, striving to make our marriage work to the best of our abilities. There was an unspoken agreement to pretend that nothing had happened.

But the trauma from that incident, how could one forget? Perhaps we were simply choosing to forget temporarily! Yet, I could sense the growing distance between our hearts, a distance so vast that I couldn't bridge it, as if we had never truly been close.

I didn't know how much longer we could endure. Was it just a matter of days? Or maybe weeks? How far could we go? There was a long road ahead. We had to persevere. However, a day might come when we could no longer bear it, and on that day, perhaps we would be separated forever.

I didn't want to end our relationship, our marriage. I anxiously sought a solution, yearning to change our circumstances. I took her for walks, shopping, bought her flowers and gifts, and planned romantic outings and candlelit dinners, hoping to surprise her in different ways.

Although we appeared happy and affectionate in each other's company, she held my hand and occasionally kissed my cheek, just like before. Yet, I could feel that it was akin to a thirsty person drinking seawater, only leaving them thirstier and eventually succumbing to dehydration.

Feeling lost and unsure of what to do, one day, by chance, I came across that card—the card of the woman who had vanished from my life like a dream. It was dark, adorned with a blood-stained red rose, much like the woman herself—endlessly tempting, endlessly mysterious, and impossible to decipher or grasp.

Clutching the card, I hesitated for a long time before finally mustering the courage to dial the number.

As I heard the ringing sound when the call connected, my heart raced, nervously anticipating not only Chloe's voice but also the topic she had mentioned in my ear that day.

After three rings, a voice answered. I was the first to ask, "Is this Chloe?"

"Yes, this is Chloe," came the pleasant voice of Chloe over the phone.

As expected, it was her, and secretly, I felt relieved. I had been concerned that the business card might be fake or a scam, but now it seemed I had overthought it. My heart beat faster, and my palms grew sweaty.

"Are you Mr. Cusack?" she inquired, precisely recalling my last name.

Perplexed, I asked, "How did you know I was Mr. Cusack?"

"Didn't you tell me the other day when we were talking?" Chloe replied teasingly. "Did you forget about me so soon?"

Recalling the image of her smiling face and the faint lipstick mark she left on my cheek, I could almost feel the warmth of her lips. I absentmindedly touched the spot she had kissed, and in a panic, I explained, "Oh, no, no! Of course not. I had a bit too much to drink that day, so some things slipped my mind."

"Haha, I'm just teasing you. I can see you're nervous. I'm not that petty," Chloe laughed merrily, and the atmosphere lightened with her laughter. Still, she awaited my response, and out of nowhere, she asked, "I called you now because I've been waiting for you. I've been so anxious."

"Oh, I've been really busy at work lately..." I began to explain, feeling like a sinner who had to constantly provide explanations.

Before I could finish, she interjected, "I don't care about your reasons. Keeping a lady waiting is not gentlemanly behavior."

"Okay, okay. If there's a chance to meet, I promise to apologize in person," I replied politely.

"That's what you said. I'll make a note of it!" Chloe insisted playfully.

"No problem," I replied, making a hollow promise. All I could do was put up a facade.

Chloe then playfully said, "That's great! I'll let it slide since you seem sincere. This time, you better bring me something nice, or else there will be consequences. Bye!" Without waiting for my response, she blew a kiss through the phone and hung up.