Don't Cry

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story that begins with an apology.... view prompt

3 comments

Drama Fiction

It is a cold, mid-January evening, Elizabeth Brooks shudders, feeling a foreboding hesitation in the air, the snow crunches beneath her feet as she steps through the shadow of the front porch of their modest cottage by the lake. She's tired. It was a busy workday at the textile company and she hopes her husband, Tom, has brought something home for dinner. She sees him through the stained-glass window in the door, his tall, dark, refracted image moving quickly, carrying boxes? She turns the door knob, enters and looks at the suitcases on the floor, then follows him to the bedroom.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, head down, appearing startled by her arrival. "I'd hoped to be gone by now." He points to a handwritten note on the nightstand.

"Who is she?" Debbie, his youthful blonde secretary? Sheila, his ambitious account manager at the insurance company? Elizabeth knows the Viagra in his sock drawer isn't for her benefit, and the late nights at the office weren't for the overtime pay. There's always someone waiting in the wings with nothing to lose, she thinks.

"There's no one else. It's just over."

"I see," she says, with a patient, understanding voice, sitting motionless like a doll, poker straight on the edge of the bed. Her coarse, factory-worker hands lightly smooth the rustic handmade quilt. Her entire life she had always been the one to apologize, her tendency to use the least dramatic response. Maybe he's looking for an argument, or a plea to make him stay, but she offers neither.

" Is that all you can say? For God's sake, Lizzie... Can't you see?I'm leaving you?" He motions to the empty drawers hanging from the dresser and slams the closet door. "Say something--, or how about for once in your life-- feel something!"


Her mind drifts back twenty-five years to a cozy table in an upscale restaurant--white laced table cloth, two wine-filled glasses; delicious, fruit-scented, bubbly. Two young lovers in their early twenties, basking in the romantic glow of the candlelight.

"Marry me," he says, as he gets down on one knee.

"Yes," she quickly replies, excited as he slips the diamond ring on her finger. Its brilliant sparkle and the anticipation in his blue eyes takes her breath away.

Two years later, a beautiful Christmas tree stands in the living room. The new ornament announcing Baby's First Christmas, hangs in the center, reflecting the magical glow of the glimmering lights. The dancing fire in the hearth crackles. Elizabeth feels the warmth of her husband's strong arms around her, and deeply inhales the baby powder scent of their daughter, Abby, sleeping in her arms. She feels safe from the bitter winter outside. Abby grows up: pigtails change to perms, dolls to boys, blue jeans to designer dresses. She leaves home to follow her own dreams and vanishes to a memory.

The years go by in the blink of an eye. Dreams fade like the wallpaper on the walls. She can't recall when it first started--the insidious silence. The television buffers the absent conversation. Work becomes the priority. Late nights at the office, always her fault, her lack of glamour, frivolity, fun.


Feel something. She twists a lock of her mousy brown hair in her fingers, a habit she knows irritates him. Could he be right?


She thinks of a time when, as an eight-year-old little girl, she mourns the sudden death of her kitten. Heartbroken, she cries alone in her bed--neatly made in military fashion, in a room void of toys, or posters that typically adorn a child's room. She buries her face to muffle her cries in the tear-stained, crisp white pillow and abruptly stops in fear, as she hears the heavy footsteps approach her door. Father knocks and enters, stern-faced, for she knows all too well that emotions are not tolerated in his home, and crying is a weakness he cannot allow. The snotty-nosed, tiny red face looks up to the towering figure, desperately seeking comfort for her grief, but as usual, none is offered. There is a mutual unspoken understanding as he grips his belt, but then pauses and simply says,

"Stop it, Elizabeth. Get up."

She swallows hard, wipes her tears on her sleeve, and quickly buries the feelings, like a treasure, in a mythical ocean. There, hidden deep and safe, they are allowed to sparkle like kaleidoscope prisms in the beams of sunlight of her heart. She gets up, smooths the wrinkles from the grey, wool blanket, and lightly scurries past.

"I'm sorry, Father," then like a good little soldier, she resolves never to cry again.

Her parents had prepared her well for life, for marriage. Mother taught her not only her ABC's, but also how to look the other way.

"The grass always seems greener," she would say. "They only cheat for a little while, then they always come back. You'll see."

Father taught her to always be one- step ahead. From his military training, young Elizabeth learned the importance of intel and strategy: how to bug a room, set up surveillance cameras.

"There are casualties in war," he would say, "but the winner is the soldier who is prepared and resilient."


She knew this day would come--the day Tom would leave. She calmly reaches into her locked, private drawer and pulls out a large envelope, and hands it to her husband.

"What's this?" he asks.

"Just a little going away present." she says, tactfully arching an eyebrow. "Open it."

He rips open the package and sorts through the stack of explicit photographs collected over the years, along with evidence of money he embezzled from the insurance company he works for. He looks at her with an astonished look on his face.

"Oh," she adds," I have copies. And here is an NDA and a divorce agreement that I get everything--the house, the boat the cars, the money and a tidy monthly sum, or else...well, it won't go well for you." She fails to mention the cash, hidden in the safety deposit box at the bank. Handing him a pen, she says,

"Please sign the agreements now, before you go...and sweetheart, "Hope she's worth it."

With a fury, he smashes the crystal vase of red roses he gave her for their recent anniversary; flowers given in habit, instead of love. He signs the papers, sets them down, then with suitcases in hand, disappears out the front door, into the storm.

She stands in the open doorway, as the taxi drives away; cold wind swirling snow around her, twists the diamond ring from her finger and looks at the symbol of love and trust--feelings she wishes she could have shown him. As the marriage ends, a single, silvery tear forms in the corner of her eye, and, instinctively, she wipes it away.





















December 27, 2024 02:29

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3 comments

Mary Butler
02:48 Jan 04, 2025

Barbara, your story is a powerful exploration of resilience and transformation within the heartbreak of a fractured marriage. The line, "Feelings she wishes she could have shown him," encapsulates the quiet sorrow and unspoken depth of Elizabeth's experience. Your portrayal of Elizabeth's stoic yet calculating response was gripping; her strength in reclaiming control over a situation fraught with betrayal was masterfully handled. The pacing of the story kept me engaged, and the vivid imagery of both the present and Elizabeth’s poignant memo...

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Geertje H
16:46 Dec 31, 2024

Revenge is cold comfort. She was taught not to show emotions and thus lost everyone around her. Welcome to Reedsy.

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Barbara Minshall
20:38 Dec 31, 2024

Correct. We need to not be afraid to feel but also to try to understand that not everyone can communicate openly. Thank you so much for reading my story.

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