I never knew the morning could be so beautiful. I couldn't even remember the last time I woke up so refreshed and well-rested. I skipped down the hall as I headed to the kitchen. I savored my cup of coffee as if it were the finest cappuccino in Italy. I smiled, and hummed, and danced while doing my housework as if I were auditioning to be the next Disney princess or something.
I barely even recognized myself as I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Who was this woman? This happy, cheerful girl with a bounce in her step and eyes shining bright. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd seen her.
Unfortunately, her time on this Earth was destined to be short. I felt as if I'd barely started to recognize her when the front door suddenly opened and slammed shut again. In an instant, she was gone, and the miserable, hollow face I was used to seeing quickly took her place.
Ah, yes. There was the Maggie I knew.
I sighed heavily as I went back to sweeping the floor. Right. Today was Friday, wasn't it? My question was answered as Phil trudged his way into the kitchen, tossing his jacket onto the counter. He reeked of cigarettes and stale alcohol as he passed me.
"You shouldn't be smoking," I commented, not bothering to look at him. "The doctor said you're already a stroke risk given your family history. Remember?"
He let out a dry laugh as he plopped down at the table. "Aw, what's the matter? Worried that it might kill me off? Or just that you'd be stuck looking after me if it didn't?"
"Do we really have to do this the moment you come home?" I huffed, tossing the contents of the dustpan into the trash.
"What? It's the truth. You obviously don't care about what happens to me," he snapped, turning towards me. "I checked my phone the second I got up this morning, and what did I see? Nothing. No text. No phone call. Not even a thumbs-up emoji or anything to acknowledge that I'd messaged you. And then what's the first thing I get from you when I finally get home? Not a hug or a kiss, not a shred of concern about my safety, just a half-assed comment about how I shouldn't be smoking."
Of course, the guilt trip. This had been his go-to ever since I gave up the concerned and apologetic wife act. If he couldn't make me worried with fear, he was going to leave me wracked with guilt. It didn't work much, of course, but that still didn't stop him from trying.
"Why should I be concerned?" I asked simply, shrugging. "You said you were going drinking. You hate drinking alone, so I assumed that meant you were with friends. Besides, I know you wouldn't do anything stupid while you were out. Even if you were hammered. Why would I need to check up on you if I believe you're being safe and responsible? If anything doesn't that show my unwavering trust in you more than a lack of concern?"
That left him fuming. He glared down at the table silently, stewing. We both knew he was right. I didn't give two shits about his safety. However, he couldn't exactly argue with any of the points I made either. And that's what he hated the most.
He couldn't bitch, moan, or complain to anyone about this. Not when all of my logic was perfectly reasonable.
I was a model housewife. In public, at least. Nobody knew about the hell we lived in at home. So, nobody had any reason to doubt me. And even if they did, I didn't really care what they thought about me anyway. Airing our dirty laundry would only really damage his reputation. And that was the last thing he would ever want to do.
To Phil, image was everything. His money, his position, his status in society. He couldn't stand to lose them. Which is why he was just as trapped in this shitty relationship as I was.
No disease in the world spreads faster than gossip does. Especially in places like suburban neighborhoods and boring office jobs. Divorce would be an ugly stain on his perfect, pearly-white record. Even an amicable one was likely to start a couple of whispers here and there, but a volatile one? It would be the death of his public image.
The neighbors would demonize him, his co-workers would start to ostracize him, even his family would start to pull away to minimize the effect on their own reputations. Slowly, his company would start to do the same.
They couldn't fire him over a nasty divorce, but they could "demote" him in a sense. Leave him out of big accounts and projects with major clients, give him menial tasks just so he couldn't say they weren't giving him any work, send in a "supervisor" to watch over his performance.
Of course, with that kind of pressure, it would only be a matter of time before he made some kind of mistake. Even if it was just a small one. And that would be all the ammunition the "supervisor" needed to fire him.
And then who would he be?
A divorced man with no family, no job, no money, and a bad reputation to top it all off? He'd never recover. Financially or emotionally. To Phil, image was everything, and without it, he was nothing. And he knew that just as well as I did.
It was the one card I held over him in our relationship. The prenup guaranteed that the money would always be in his favor, but his crippling fear of losing the carefully crafted public image that he'd spent so long perfecting kept him from doing anything too drastic. Even on the days I pissed him off the most.
That said, I still tried to keep the peace most days. More for my mental health than anything else. It was exhausting always snapping and lashing out at him. Besides, my neutrality and nonchalance towards this whole thing pissed him off a hell of a lot more than my fighting ever could.
"Clear your schedule next weekend, " he grumbled, standing to grab himself a cup of coffee. "Company's holding some kind of charity dinner Saturday."
"Uh-huh, and what charity is it for exactly?" I asked, rolling my eyes.
"Don't know, don't care. And neither do they," he explained, shrugging. "It's just an excuse to reign in potential clients. So, wear something nice. We need to make a good impression."
I sighed and nodded without saying anything. He wasn't looking at me, but he didn't really need to be either. He already knew I'd go along with it. I didn't have much choice.
It was part of the unspoken deal we'd made together. One of my "wifely duties," so to speak. In private, I could think and say whatever I wanted about him, but in public, I had to be his good little wife.
It was my job to stand by his side, smile, laugh, and make him look like a king among men. The "All-American man" with the doting, pretty, little housewife and a beautiful, well-kept home in the suburbs. Someone potential clients would be eager to do business with.
The young money didn't care too much about this shit, but the old money was still pretty traditional about it, and they were the most consistent clients. The ones who believed in "loyalty," as they put it.
I, personally, couldn't stand the old windbags. Or their noses-in-the-air, my-husband's-success-is-my-success wives. That said, I knew how to play nice with them. To bite my tongue, nod along, and make polite conversation.
These events were my job and, as a result, I'd gotten very good at them over the years. Phil had landed several big accounts just due to the fact that the men were "charmed" by his "lovely wife." Or because their wives found me "friendly and down-to-Earth." By their standards at least.
It was hell, but nothing I couldn't survive. An evening of fake smiles and forced laughter was a small price to pay when I considered everything it provided for Eli. A small smile came to my face as I thought of him.
Maybe I should go and see him today. Friday was Phil's day off and I really didn't feel like spending the entire day waiting on him hand and foot while I listened to his passive-aggressive comments. He'd complain about eating leftovers for lunch, but as long as I was home to cook dinner, he'd probably let it slide.
I hurried and shoved the broom back into the closet. "Got it, dress nice, good impression. Do you need anything from me? I was about to head out and visit Eli."
He scoffed and shook his head. "Right, right. I get one day off a week so of course that's the one day you decide you absolutely have to go and visit him."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Is there something you wanted to do together?" I asked, feigning innocence. "Well, if that's the case, then please, let me know. I'm more than happy to cancel my plans to visit my terminally ill brother to spend time with you."
"Jesus Christ, just get the fuck out if you're going," he snapped.
I had to hide my smile as I headed to the bedroom to get dressed. Phil wasn't the only one who could guilt-trip around here, and unlike him, mine garnered more sympathy.
Phil was already glowering at the table by the time I returned, a dark cloud forming over his head. I put on my cheeriest smile as I spoke to him.
"There's some leftovers in the fridge for lunch. Don't worry, I'll be home in time to make you something hot and tasty for dinner." Of course, he sat there silently, ignoring my presence. "I love you too, Dear. I'll see you tonight."
I did get the satisfaction of hearing him let out a small huff of annoyance before I walked out the door. It was still decently early in the morning. The facility was a little far away, but if I left now, I could probably make it there before lunch. I just hoped Eli was feeling okay today.
As convenient as an excuse as it was to get away from Phil, the last thing I wanted was for Eli to overwork himself with a visit if he was already feeling weak. Maybe it would be a good idea to call first. Just to check-in.
Another bonus of the facility he was in was that he had a designated in-care nurse. Ronnie. A sweet boy, fresh out of nursing school.
At least, he was when he first started with Eli. He'd been his nurse for a few years already now. Eli and I considered him more like family than an employee by this point. The facility gave him a phone designated specifically so Phil or I could reach him and check in on Eli whenever needed. Of course, he was always at the top of my contact list.
I held the phone to my ear. As always, he was quick to answer.
"Hello, Maggie! How can I help you?" he asked cheerfully.
I couldn't help but smile. He didn't even need to ask which one of us was calling anymore. He always knew it was me.
"Hey, Ronnie. I was just wondering how Eli is feeling today. I was thinking about visiting, but-"
"Ah, then feel free to come by," he insisted, not even waiting for me to finish my sentence. "He isn't scheduled for treatment until tomorrow, so now is actually the perfect time to visit. You know he's usually weak for a few days after."
I swallowed back the lump in my throat that I always got when I heard things like this. "Okay, I'm heading to the car now then. I should be there in an hour or so depending on traffic."
"I'll let Eli know. I'm sure he'll be thrilled. See you soon, Mags!"
As the line cut off, I let out a heavy sigh. Well, I suppose today really was a good day to go and see him then.
Eli had been sick for a long time, almost as long as I could remember, but I still never got used to hearing about his condition. Every time it left a lump in my throat and a hollow feeling in my stomach. An emptiness that couldn't be filled until I saw for myself that he was okay. And even then, it depended on how he looked when I saw him.
I sighed and leaned heavily against my car, resting my head against the roof. As I did, I saw the reflection of something in the window. The mailbox.
A small wave of panic ran through me. Mason had left me something there after our last little "encounter," would he do it again? I was pretty sure Phil would spend all day inside, nursing his hangover, but it was still too big of a risk not to check. I scurried over to get a closer look.
The flag was down, so I guess that was a good sign. Still, I peeked inside just to be safe. A huge sigh of relief exited my lips. Empty.
Good, maybe that was just a one-time thing. Although, I couldn't tell if I was more relieved or disappointed by that fact. I shook my head as I turned back towards the car.
"Morning, Maggie!"
Two words. Just two little words. A friendly greeting that I'd probably heard more than a thousand times by now. But it wasn't the greeting that stopped me dead in my tracks. It was the voice.
A voice that immediately sent shivers up my spine and made my knees go weak. A voice that I'd only heard a handful of times yet had a power over me like no other in this world. A voice I recognized from my dreams.
Mason.