Abigail

F o u r t e e n

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"Abigail?" Damien called out from the foyer. "A quick word please."

"Okay, one second!" She replied from the kitchen. She wiped her wet hands on the tea towel before holding the coffee pot by its handle and taking her mug of hot chocolate in her other hand. She blew the baby hairs away from her eyes and walked out of the kitchen with a bright smile. "Yes?"

Damien was scrolling through his phone as he waited for her to appear. He wore a steel grey suit with a dark plum-coloured tie, a colour combination Abigail had never thought of. He checked his watch before looking up at her.

"I have assigned you a personal driver. He's available on the weekdays. His number is on this card, so make sure to get it down. If you need a driver on the weekend, contact the same number and they'll arrange a substitute for you."

Abigail nodded and thanked him. She was used to having a personal driver back when she lived with her uncle, it made travelling easier. Not that she was expecting Damien to arrange one for her, but it was nice and thoughtful of him to do so.

Damien looked at her as if he wanted to say something else. Abigail smiled at him, but instead of voicing his thoughts, his face hardened before he gave her a small nod and walked toward the elevator.

"Wait!" Abigail took a few steps forward, following him. Her hold on the coffee pot shook slightly. "You're leaving?"

He pressed the elevator button. She received a weird look from him as he turned to face her. It was obvious he was leaving.

"But I made breakfast for the both of us." With the coffee pot in hand, she pointed at the dining table on the far side of the unit. The table was positioned perfectly as it overlooked the main wonders of the city and the morning sun seeped in to warm the seats. The soft glow reached the table at an angle that the hot steam from the food could be seen. "And I made you coffee," she offered.

His eyes followed her pointing arm. "I'm late." He stated, before the two dings on the elevator rung and the doors slid open. He stepped in and pressed the button to go down. He fixed his watch and kept his face stoic as the doors closed.

Her feet remained frozen to the ground as the small down arrow glowed beside the elevator buttons.

A small sigh escaped her lips, her efforts felt useless. Dragging her feet toward the dining table and placing the coffee pot and her mug on the table, she slumped into her seat. Earlier that morning, she made Belgian-style waffles and prepared a plum sauce and cream to go with them. And for the sake of having options, she also made a few poached eggs and some bacon, in case Damien preferred a savoury breakfast. He preferred neither.

Amongst the food displayed on the table, the two plates she laid out, one at the head of the table for Damien and another for herself on his right, remained empty and as clean as when they came out of the dishwasher.

Abigail blew her hot chocolate and took a small sip. She let out another sad sigh, pushed her hands against the table, and stood up. Her apatite was gone. It wasn't the first time Damien had avoided breakfast. In the two weeks, he had been home, he had avoided the breakfast she prepared six times. The other times, he had left for work before she had woken up.

She noticed that Damien started his day very early in the morning, but it wasn't a surprise; it was typical for a person like him. She also figured that he was on no one's schedule but his own; if he was late, then he was late and no one complained, and if he was early, it was because everyone else was late. Time revolved around him.

Simply put, he didn't want to eat breakfast with her.

Although they were doors apart, a conversation between the two barely lasted any longer than two minutes. Her keen questions were always met with short, blunt replies and a face that lacked any hint of interest. She was his wife, but she felt less than a roommate. At least most roommates acknowledge each other. She was just there.