He Doesn't Love Me

Marian, 1976

Our marriage crumbled the moment I saw him with her. His teaching assistant. Younger than him, prettier than me. I knew they were sleeping together by the way she casually touched his shoulder, the way she blushed when he looked at her, and oh, how he looked at her. He never looked at me that way. Not even in the honeymoon phase of our marriage. Not even when were young and naïve. He smiled like a child in a candy store at the coquettish sound of her laughter. Her perfume drenched every inch of his skin when he returned home from work after midnight. We got stuck in my office grading papers, he’d tell me when I’d ask him about it the next morning. But I knew better than to believe that. And yet, I never said anything until tonight…

I sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of wine and two empty glasses. I nervously tapped the stem of my glass with my fingernails. I’d rehearsed what I was going to say to him over and over in my head. I had the speech perfectly memorized, but I couldn’t help but worry about the outcome. Would he leave me? Choose her over me? I mean, after all, youth and beauty only lasted for so long. Once hers was gone, he’d simply move on to the next young, beautiful woman. My thoughts immediately silenced when I heard the key turning in the door. When he entered the kitchen, I straightened up and stopped fidgeting with my wine glass.

“You’re up early,” he said. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Sit down, Robert.”

He nodded and set his briefcase down on the kitchen counter.

“What’s going on?” he asked, sitting down at the seat across from me.

I sighed and picked up the wine bottle. I swallowed the lump in my throat, bracing myself for what was about to happen.

“I know that…you’re cheating on me, Rob,” I took small sip of my wine. “With Sophia ---”

“Marian, she’s just my teaching assistant!” he protested. “She helps me tutor the students and grade papers ---”

“I’ve seen the way you two look at each other… how you talk to each other, how you …touch each other…” I stopped myself, feeling nausea rise to my throat at the thought of them in being intimate.

Robert stared at his empty glass for a beat. I searched his face for any signs of remorse or guilt. But nothing. His expression was blank.

“I don’t like that you’re cheating on me,” I whispered. “It makes me sick to my stomach, but I’m willing to make this work, regardless.”

He finally glanced up from his glass and stared directly into my eyes.

“I love you, and I’m not going to give you up that easily.”

He doesn’t love me. So, I will stay with him until one day, he does love me.

Vera, 2019

I met Noah at coffee shop five years ago. He approached me while I waited for coffee order. The first thing I noticed were his eyes. His warm, hazel eyes with gold flecks circling them. I couldn’t help but blush when I stared at his full lips. It was love at first sight. We were inseparable from that moment on. We talked on the phone for hours, met up for dates at the same coffee shop where we’d first met. A few months after that, we moved to a studio apartment together. Living with him was the happiest I’d ever been. We made love during the late hours of the night and went on romantic walks in the nearby park. It was pure bliss…

Until Noah told me he wanted to “some space”. He said were spending “too much time together” and we were “moving too fast”. He told me that he’d already found a new apartment to move into. I begged him to give us another chance. I explained to him that we could still be together even if we didn't live together. I told him that we could fix our relationship. Noah didn't feel the same.

I tried getting in touch with him after he moved out. I called him nearly twenty times each day and left a voicemail each time. I'd reached a point where his phone went direct to voicemail -- he'd blocked me. I sent him countless messages on all his social media accounts, but it wasn't long before he blocked me on those too. He threatened to file a restraining order against after I'd showed up at his new apartment one night.

I so desperately wanted him to love me again. I tried everything I could to mend our relationship. But my efforts were pointless because Noah doesn't love me. Noah loves Cora.

He moved on quite fast. I don’t know the exact details of how they met, but I do know they started dating only six months after our breakup. A year later, the adopted a rescue dog --- a golden retriever. Two years after that, they announced that they were buying a house. The following year, he proposed to her in Paris, France in front of the Eiffel Tower.

I’d never been angrier. I screamed. I kicked. I threw everything in sight. I threw the biggest tantrum a grown woman could. He needed “some space” from me and thought were “moving too fast”, but had no problem shacking up with this woman and flying her out to Paris for a melodramatic proposal. I wallowed in my sorrows for a week straight before making my game plan.

Sometime in February of this year, they sent out wedding invitations. One of her friends posted her invitation to Facebook without covering up the time, date or location. Idiot. The wedding will take place on August 24th, 2019 at the East Ivy Mansion in Nashville, Tennessee. It seems that I’ll be making a surprise appearance at Noah and Cora’s wedding.

Thank God, for Cora’s idiot friend.

Marian, 2020

As I predicted decades ago, Robert did carry on with his extramarital affairs. The Sophia turned thirty-five, he tossed her aside like a used tissue. He met another twenty-something woman named, Amelia. He gave her the same treatment he gave Sophia. This cycle continued until the moment he contracted the coronavirus. He used an oxygen machine to breathe, his fever skyrocketed each day and he grew delirious.

None of his mistresses stuck around to nurse him back to health. I was the only one who did that. I gave him warm blankets, helped him get in and out of bed, spoon-fed him his soup, regularly took his temperature. I can’t complain though, Robert did take care of me all these years. That was part of our agreement --- he can sleep with whoever he wants, but I get all the benefits of being his wife. And he didn’t fail to hold up our agreement. He took care of me financially, bought whatever asked for, paid for my lavish trips around the globe and even let me have affairs of my own.  

Nevertheless, I still loved Robert. While I was with other men, I only thought of him. In fact, I thought letting him have his way would somehow make him love me again. To my disappointment, it didn’t. I had a glimmer of hope when he contracted the virus. I’ve devoted every ounce of my life to ensuring he gets back to health. I thought Robert would appreciate this so much that he would, fall back in love with me. How incredibly naïve I was.

One afternoon, when I came to the bedroom to bring him his tray daily soup crackers and orange juice, I heard him call out, “Ashley! Ashley, where are you? Where did you go?”

Ashley. His new mistress, he’d met online. I’d been the one taking care of him this entire time, and his mistresses are still the only people he’s concerned about. Part of me wanted throw the hot soup right onto his face or throw against the wall. Instead, I concealed my anger with a smile and set his plate tray on his lap.

“Ashley’s not here, dear,” I said softly. “It’s only me, your wife, Marian.”

Robert groaned, adjusting himself in the bed.

I left the room, still smiling with my head held high. Once I was out of the room, I stepped into the bathroom. I shut the door behind me and slid down it. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

Robert passed away a few days later. I cried for hours and hours every day for a month. The morgues were so full to the brim with dead bodies, I couldn’t even give him a proper funeral. His death wasn’t what saddened me the most. What truly saddened me was that, after all these years, after all I’ve done for him, he still didn’t love me. He never loved me.

Vera, 2020

The wedding was incredible. The sun shone brightly on the fresh-cut grass. Pink flower petals were scattered across the aisles. Guests were teary-eyed as the bride and groom exchanged vows. Noah, looked handsome, as usual in a fitted navy-blue tux. Cora stunned in a white lace, mermaid-style dress. Her long, brown locks of hair cascaded around her shoulders. She looked so happy before I pulled out my gun and shot her would-be husband in the head.

The blood from his brain splattered onto her white dress. The guests turned their heads and gasped. I stood at the end of the aisle, tears running down my cheeks. Some of the guests ran, some called the police and others tackled came after me. Noah’s father tackled me to the ground and smashed his fists into my face. He’d beaten me so bad I had to be hospitalized. My nose was broken, I had a black eye, a chipped tooth and damage to my ear. All the wounds healed, except for my ear. I had permanent hearing loss in one ear from the beating.

I can’t say I didn’t deserve it, though. After all, I’d killed a man right before the eyes of his loved ones. I was surprise he didn’t beat me dead. I was even more surprised that family didn’t try for the death penalty at my hearing. Instead, I’d gotten twenty-five years to life in prison.

You deserve to spend every day of your life, rotting in a prison cell while you think about what you’ve done. Noah’s father had said at my final hearing.

His mother only cried and shook her head. Everyone else glared at me and mumbled harsh words under their breaths. My parents relentlessly asked, why? Why did I do this? How could I be so cruel?

I said nothing when they asked. I remained stoic throughout each court session. But the answer was: jealousy. I did it because I wanted him to love me and he didn’t. Instead, he gave his love to another woman, and I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t stand the thought of him loving any other woman besides me.

He didn’t love me. Now, he will never love another woman.