A Letter to an Unfaithful Husband

       To My Unfaithful Husband,

         I have forgotten what your eyes look like. The color, the shape, everything is blurred in my mind. I can see a faint outline, a glint of blue, but then there's nothing. I'm sure you've forgotten mine. Her eyes must dominate your mind. You must spend hours thinking about the way they glimmer in the moonlight, sparkling with mischief at your stolen hours away from home. How smooth her skin feels against yours, your fingers, so soft, trailing across her throat. It's a rush, how trusting her body is to your touch. Little does she know that those same fingers, so gentle, were the ones that brushed against our daughters head when she was born. The same ones that brushed across my cheeks, wiping away the tears, after we lost our first son. And second. 

        What have you told her to make her feel like she is the only one in your heart? I'm sure I've heard all of your lines before. You haven't worn your ring in years. You said it was too small and didn't fit, but you never got it resized. I guess you didn't want her to see the indentation in your skin, the sliver of light skin that marked you as mine. Does she know about me? About our children?

        I hear you come home at night, your drunken curses echoing through the dark house as you stumble up the stairs. As I stare at the ceiling, I can hear your breathing down the hall. You visit the children every time. You love them, despite being half of me. At least, I think you love them like a father should. Maybe if you truly love them, you'll see them in the light of day. Maybe then they won't come to me with questions about their daddy, asking me what he looks like and what he acts like as if they'd never met you. 

        But sometimes, more often now, you don't come home at all. Our bed has become mine. It is cold with just me, half of it just a memorial for what used to be. We haven't shared a bed in months. Sometimes, as I begin to wake, my mind still fogged with sleep, I'll reach for where you used to lie, gripping at the empty sheets until I come to my senses. On those mornings, I always leave my pillow damp with tears. 

        What we had was beautiful, in the beginning. But, like all beautiful things, it was broken and crushed. Something so perfect just isn't meant to last in this world. I hope she lets you see the beauty again and that it isn't lost forever for you. It's lost for me now. You were it for me. 

Love,

        Me