Twelve Betrayals

One. Two. Three. Four. By the time the clock read ten in the morning, twelve were missing. The package sat on the kitchen counter, open and inviting. But as inviting as it was, it was as if the package had a sympathetic look. Kit sat at the kitchen window seat, watching the rain crash against the window. Her husband, Joel, was at work. Probably into his fourth meeting by now and three cups of coffee in. His job as a financial lawyer distracted him. Kept him busy. When he was home, most of their conversation was contrived at dinner. Kit’s diatribe of her day would be heard but unfortunately, not retained. Kit would decide, most nights, to eat in silence. The rain thumped against the window, at lightning speed.

Kit’s publisher would have undoubtedly sent her another email inquiring about the status of her second book. The rough draft transcript would be due in two weeks and Kit had been continually telling her publisher that the draft would be done. Kit had scraps of a rough draft but nothing concrete.

She grabbed the package of cookies and threw them in the trash. She walked onto her back porch, which was surrounded by windows to protect her from the inclement weather. She sat in her white rocking chair and watched the rain for some time. After a few moments, Kit reached into the tin box sitting on the side table and grabbed the envelope she had sealed up yesterday evening. She moved it around in her hands before standing up and taking it to her bedroom and placing it on her husband’s pillow. She looked at it for a second before walking to her closet. Joel had not even noticed the suitcase. She pulled it out of the closet and grabbed her sneakers next to it. Kit reached her car after she had methodically gone throughout the house. A meal of baked chicken and green beans was placed in the refrigerator. The television was off. The living room was organized and vacuumed. The bathroom had freshly washed towels. If not for the handpicked paintings and family pictures, Kit’s home would resemble a well-manicured hotel suite. She had locked the door, left the mail in the mailbox, and turned the key into her ignition before the gravity of what she was doing hit her. But she knew it had to be done. She turned onto the street, stopped at the stop sign, and made the left and did not look back.

Joel arrived home, close to seven in the evening. He noticed Kit was not home, but he did not strike that as an oddity. He noticed the plate in the refrigerator and popped it into the microwave. He ate the baked chicken and green beans, scrolling through his phone. It was eight thirty before he thought of his wife again. He went into his bedroom and noticed the envelope on his pillow. His wife’s penmanship was instantly noticeable. His name was on the front. As he read the first few lines, his heart dropped into his stomach.

Joel,

I never thought I would be writing this letter, but I feel as if I have no choice. I knew for a long time that our marriage was not perfect, but I just assumed that was for your lack of understanding rather than lack of love. Then one night, when it was past nine and you still were not home, I traveled to your office. And there your car was. There the light was on in your office. But unfortunately when I made my way around the corner there you were. Shirt undone. Laughter. And there she was. Enough said.

I cannot say that I am shocked. I cannot say that I am completely heartbroken. On our wedding day your aunt came to me. Me standing, in my wedding dress and in a state of bliss, your aunt wished me the best and long-lasting marriage even though she called you a flawed man. Me not understanding, I told her our lives would be full of happiness and togetherness. She gave me a pat on the shoulder and said, “Oh dear, be careful what you wish for.” Then you came and swept me into a dance. Now those words hit like a thud. I think the worst part of it all was that was not the first time. Or the second time. It was the twelfth. You have an addiction. An addiction at not loving me at all.

Kit

Joel placed the envelope back on his pillow. He went to Kit’s side of the bed and noticed her wedding band sitting there. A picture of them, at their wedding, sitting next to it. But the most heartbreaking thing was that Joel knew it would be a matter of time before his wife no longer wanted to be betrayed.

Kit sat on the hotel bed, laptop in front of her. She had driven eleven hours before she stopped. She had eaten a hotel hamburger and fries and taken a long hot shower. By now, Joel had seen the letter. He had called. Six times. She had not picked up. Not out of anger but more out of just not wanting to have a conversation. Her publisher had emailed her. The usual emails about shopping sales filled her inbox. It was a normal day to the outside world. It was not like Kit was wearing a sign about having a cheating husband. There were no Scarlett letters. She looked down at the laptop and began to type. Four hours later, she had put the laptop to the side and placed her head on the pillow. But she did not sleep. She looked at the ceiling. She did not miss Joel. She did not miss the pristine house. She did not miss the well-manicured lawns or the community meetings. She missed the chocolate chip cookies that she threw in the trash.

The next morning, she emailed her publisher with the pieces of the rough draft she had written with the title of her book that she had already decided on. Be careful what you wish for. Joel’s aunt had told her not to wish for a perfect and happy-filled marriage. Kit had resisted the message. Hopefully, other women would not.