Foolishly Falling for You

3

Anita

I eat dinner in my room and read. The life of a wife is boring, especially when your husband doesn't care about you. Unless you have children, you're essentially alone, your husband just a ship passing by you in the night.

He seems skeptical, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for that desperate, sad version of me to reappear. But it will never happen. I killed her.

"You're not going to nag me about putting on a coat?" He grinned, as he walks out into the snow.

I say nothing. There's no use to entertain his taunts.

"You're not going to complain that I don't spend time with you? That I don't care enough?"

I find it so funny that he can recite the things I begged for, for years with no emotion. He heard me. He heard the things I needed and he decided I wasn't worth them.

If I expected anything else, I'd probably be full of rage right now. It comes and goes, the rage. The frustration mounts until it explodes in screaming, and crying. 

But I expect nothing less now. This is reality. I was so delusional, it's hard to understand where my mind was. Where was I living? Not in this house, not if I had any hope. There is nothing in this house to inspire hope of love, not a whisper or a prayer.

I feel like the cobwebs have been cleared from my mind, like a fog has lifted. I am finally seeing my life for what it is. It isn't terrible. My husband has money. He doesn't hurt me, if I don't let him if I don't expose my heart to him. I live in comfort. I love in pain. That is the only bad thing about this marriage, the love or lack of it. 

Now that he's away on business I can get to doing what I really want: reading. I get lost in the love of romance novels. It's a much better delusion than before, I find.

Hours pass. Lance is in the military, and with war impending, he's often gone. They say he may ship out soon, but for now, he spends his time between meetings and pubs, anything to get away from me, I suppose. 

I go back to my book. Right now, the young Duke has realized his feelings for his maid and is conflicted. His duty as heir, or love. It's cheesy, but sweet. The end is predictable: of course, they'll get together. But that's the beauty of it, I think. Knowing it will work out beforehand. 

I put my fish in my mouth, staring at the words of love written on the page with a small smile. 

I will move heaven and earth to be with you, and if I can not move them, I will move, I will fly far away from the skies that dare to confine us, and take my place on the moon beside you.

I sigh and glance out at the moon. He'd live on the moon just to me next to her.

My husband would live on the moon just to get away from me. I chuckle at the thought, actually. I can imagine his face, always still, his dark eyes on me.

"I am moving to the moon. Do not follow me."

I laugh harder because I'm actually fairly certain that's exactly what he would say, in that exact, deadpan cadence.

I should've loved a man with more than two facial expressions, that probably would've made my life a little easier.

He's not so bad, Lance. He makes sure I'm taken care of, and he's fairly cordial, as long as you don't press him. He's an ideal housemate--pays the bills, stays out of your way, greets you cordially when you see him.

He's just...not husband material. But young girls don't look at the material he's made of when they meet a boy. That's the foolish love of youth.

Like in novels. I continue reading, hearing his carriage pull up. He's stumbling out. I suppose he chose a pub this time. He keeps to himself usually, he's quiet and dutiful.

It makes him look so cool. He thanks the coachman, and enters the house. I'd usually rush to greet him, eat with him.

Now, I read our love-stricken maid's response.

I am afraid even on the moon, a love like ours is not meant to be.