The Keeper

Discovery

Dean picked up the letter on his way back home. It was one of her bigger ones and he struggled to fold it, to stuff it in his back pocket. He would read it when he got home, as his wife had her creative writing class that evening, or maybe it was her book club. She was out a lot of evenings now, which was better for them both. But then he felt a tightness in his chest, thinking about Martha. Not writing to her as he kept reading her letters was dishonest. It was stringing her along, even if she couldn't be sure he was reading them. He shouldn't be reading them; they only massaged his ego while she pined for something he couldn't give her. He might be stuck in this god-awful situation, but he didn't have to hold her back too. She should be free to enjoy the world. Even if it meant going out with boys who she wasn't madly in love with. Wasn't that how you grew up? He didn't want to think of Martha with boys who weren't a good match, but it was wrong of him to interfere and not let her relationship with Toph run its course as teenage romances do.

He walked through the cul-de-sac to his house. Then he remembered it was bin day and retraced his steps to drag the empty bin to its spot by the shed. The shed door was open, so he closed it, then went to the front door, turned his key in the lock, and found that it was already unlocked. His heart sank. She must be home. He pushed open the door.

"Hello, I'm home." There was no answer, but a chill ran over his back as he entered the kitchen diner. His wife was sitting at the counter.

There was an empty wine glass and piles of letters. Martha's letters.

"I decided not to go to book club."

"Why?" said Dean, knowing the answer.

"Why? Why? Why do you think? Do you seriously imagine I want to carry on as normal, when I've just found out my husband has been having an affair? You must be stupider than I thought."

"It's not an affair."

"What's all this, then?" she said, brushing the letters off the bench top.

Dean wanted to run over and pick them up, but kept close to the door, breathed in deeply and said, "It's not what you think, Kristina. Nothing's happened. Nothing for you to be concerned about."

Kristina snorted. "I'll decide what concerns me. What concerns me is that everybody thinks that you're a man of high morals, a loyal husband, a trustworthy teacher. What bollocks! It's a sham. You're nothing but a weaselly fake. I can't believe I was taken in by it for all these years. And when I found these letters – "

The calm Dean had mustered was gone, and anger bubbled up in its place. "How did you find them?" he said, scooping them up and stuffing them into his bag.

"I was looking for something in the shed."

"Looking in a locked box? My locked box? In my shed? It's the only part of this house that is mine!"

"You're still my husband. You've been acting all weird, and I had to find out what was going on. I needed to see what you had to hide. Because I knew something was going on, you see. You seemed too... happy." Kristina gave Dean a sardonic smile that warned him of what was to come.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"You mean, what have I done?"

"Oh, Kristina. Kristina, what have you done?"

"You'll find out soon enough. You'll get what you deserve, and it isn't a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl!" She threw the wine glass at him before running upstairs.

Dean flinched as it grazed his ear before shattering against the wall. There was nothing more he could say. He left the house, slamming the door behind him.