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Fiction Sad Romance

She never looks at me at dinner time anymore. Instead, her eyes are cast downwards, half-moon lids shrouding the truth as her fingertips deftly dance across the screen of her phone. Occasionally she puts the phone down and picks up her fork to toy with the half-eaten vegetables swimming in gravy. She does not finish the meal but shifts the food mindlessly around her plate whilst the glass of wine remains untouched beside her.

I know the wine is expensive. The extravagance is a cursory nod to our anniversary, and the cork leaves red stains on the table, smearing the surface like flecks of blood. The liquid in the glass gleams a rich, deep colour that looks almost black in the dim light of the dining room.

My own wine glass is empty and she does not move to pour me any. We sit in suffocating silence as I continue to watch her from across the table.

I do not eat either.

Who can she be texting? A colleague from school where she teaches? A friend? Someone more than a friend?

I cannot ask.

But I know the signs.

The late nights and unexplained absences from home. The expanding wardrobe of new clothes. The unnatural rouge of her lips. The streaks of highlights in her hair where there were grey sprinkles only a few months ago.

Although perhaps it has been longer than a few months? Time loses its value when every day is the same.

Our wedding photo adorns the mantlepiece next to the table, reminding me of happier times. Buoyant smiles, white teeth and youthful optimism. She is radiant in her ivory dress with pearl drops glittering in her ear lobes. My arm is around her waist and I clutch her tightly as though I would never let her go. I know I never meant to. The camera must have caught us off guard as neither of us are looking at the lens. Instead, we’re facing each other. She is laughing, her eyes creasing up at each end and pink lips spread across her face in a wide grin.

The laughter lines have since been permanently carved into her face, and folds of wrinkles anxiously appear on her forehead whenever she raises her eyebrows. Tonight, her head is slightly bowed as she texts on her phone, and I notice that the highlights have not quite succeeded in covering all the grey strands on the top of her head.

But I think she is even more beautiful now than she was on our wedding day. Lines have etched character and wisdom into her face. Her red-rimmed, weary eyes speak of the children she dedicates her life to teaching at school. There are inevitably no photos of children in our dining room – the walls are stark and white.

Only our wedding photo gives any clue to our identities.

I love her.

I hate her.

My hate is a measure of my love. I hate her for forgetting what we had.

We always said we’d never be one of those couples – the ones who sit silently together in coffee shops and restaurants, having exhausted all avenues of conversation and with the light extinguished in their eyes.

That would never be us, we said.

Now we are like ghosts lingering in the night and the yawning void between us seems eternal. I reach out to touch her hair, and I feel a momentary prickling of warmth, not unlike static electricity. She flinches, her hand brushing me away as she might an insect.

She doesn’t even look up from her phone.

A surge of anger pulses through me. It’s not as though I ever demand much attention. But it’s our anniversary! She could at least acknowledge me. Or show some kind of respect for our marriage.

I clench my fist into a ball and in a fit of rage I punch the wedding photo off the mantlepiece. It shatters with the cracking of broken glass and lands face down with an ear-piercing snap. The sudden sound lances through the night breaking the clotted silence.

She puts down the phone and looks up at me.

I finally have her attention.

‘Michael?’ she asks.

Her mouth trembles and her eyes open wide, simmering with questions. I attempt to give her my sternest look. Yet, still she looks right through me, as though I’m not there. Tears glisten in her eyes like glass and her rosy lips contort in anguish.

She snatches the photo up from the floor and examines the damage. The pane is cracked, forging silver fault lines across our once happy, youthful faces. She lays it back face down on the mantlepiece, hiding the broken shards of glass.

I instantly feel invisible again. Our photograph, the only remnant of our marriage has been cast away out of sight. Forgotten.

Without speaking, she starts to clear up the plates. She plugs the green wine bottle with a stopper, despite the fact neither of us have drank a drop. What a waste. But my sighs of dissatisfaction are lost to the wind. The silence clouds over the room again seeping in like a thick invisible fog.

Out of the blue, the phone starts to purr and vibrate on the table. It jiggles from side to side with a life of its own; the metallic tinny ring is jarring and abrasive as it clamours for attention after being neglected for at least a minute. She drops the plates back on the table with a clatter and leaps, cat-like, for the phone.

‘Hello?’ she says putting the phone to her ear.

I hold my breath, and wonder if it could be him? Whoever he is. The one who has taken her from me.

But I hear the familiar sounds of her best friend squeaking down the phone from the other end of the line. The high-pitched cadence is unmistakeable even if I cannot hear the words.

‘Yes, I’m fine’ she says, her voice leaden with tiredness. ‘No, you don’t need to come over. Perhaps tomorrow instead. I just want to be alone tonight.’

She balances the phone between her jaw and shoulder and wipes her eyes with her fists. Alone?

‘No… seriously it’s ok,’ she says. ‘I mean... it’s time I got a grip, right? Moved on? It’s been five years since he… you know...’

She picks up the glass of wine and moves towards the door. ‘It’s just sometimes it still feels like he’s with me. Looking down on me. Watching me… I loved him so much.’

Her voice stumbles and the tears are back. I feel a strange sense of satisfaction at the sight, followed almost immediately by a feeling of guilt for making her cry.

Guilt for not being there for the last five years. Guilt for going away.

How can I blame her for anything?

‘We’d have been married fifteen years today,’ she’s saying as she switches off the light and closes the door, leaving me alone in the darkness. The conversation continues as I hear the light tread of footsteps on the stairs, but I do not follow, wishing to hear no more.

I did not want to leave, and so I have wandered the house for five years now, all the time hoping for small tokens of recognition. She does not always see me, but there was a time when she heard my voice in the morning birdsong or would think of our love whenever she saw a sunset. The scent of my aftershave still permeated our bedsheets and she’d catch the sound of my whispers from the four walls of the home we made together.

So, I linger on, hoping each day she might see me, and for a ghost of a smile in those gentle, sad eyes. Occasionally, on evenings like this one, she realises I am still here, remembering and loving her despite the gulf between us.

Her voice drifts from upstairs, high-pitched and heedless.

‘Yes, it’s going well…’ I’m sure I hear her say. ‘It’s early days yet. And it still feels strange after… after everything. But we’re taking things slow.’

She sees and hears my presence less and less as each day passes. The musk of my aftershave has been eradicated long ago by corporeal, busier scents. My cries melt into the silent sadness of the walls. I tread more gently and soundlessly around the house – a tentative guest now rather than the resident I once was. My whispers are becoming quieter and vanish into the creaking of the staircase or become lost to the sound of the wind rattling the window panes.

I hear a laugh, an alien sound that seems to shudder through the walls and pierce me utterly.

It’s been such a long time since I heard her laugh.

I know it’s only a matter of time before I fade away completely.




June 29, 2021 07:40

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17 comments

Francis Daisy
01:57 Sep 02, 2021

WOW! I had to go back through and read this a second time so I could appreciate it more for all the subtle details I missed the first time around. Well written! I loved this! :)A

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T.H. Sherlock
21:54 Sep 09, 2021

Thank you so much Amy. I’ve taken a break from Reedsy recently as I wasn’t feeling so inspired and I think there’s a charge to enter now. But feedback like this is really motivating. Thank you again.

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Francis Daisy
22:38 Sep 09, 2021

Hello! I try to look at it not so much as a charge, as a donation to starving artists😂

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Ashley Slaughter
22:49 Jul 08, 2021

Oh my gosh, Thom! This was so beautiful and heart-wrenching. Your descriptions are top-notch--so vivid, and every word so meaningful. "The pane is cracked, forging silver fault lines across our once happy, youthful faces." Wow. And the twist at the end definitely took me by surprise! I always love to read through stories like this a second time to see foreshadowing I missed before, such as his empty wine glass. Beautifully done. Thank you for sharing!

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T.H. Sherlock
21:29 Jul 13, 2021

Thank you so much for your kind feedback! And welcome back Ashley. I’ve been out of action on here recently but I’m really looking forward to checking out your latest stories!

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11:45 Jul 08, 2021

This is very reminiscent of Richard Matheson’s stories in the original Twilight Zone series. It is a simple story told nicely, relatable characters and a good, clean twist that can you make you laugh or cry. “A ghost of a smile” from her : good stuff. I really enjoyed your story and thank you for entertaining.

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T.H. Sherlock
22:27 Jul 08, 2021

Thank you Janet! I ought to check out the series - it sounds right up my street! I am Legend has also been on my 'to read' list for a while. I'm so pleased you liked the story.

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Ellie Yu
15:20 Jul 05, 2021

This took my breath away. That plot twist when you show the reader that Michael is no longer alive was probably one of the best I've ever read. It's a really interesting duality you showcase here: the beauty of love, of course, but also the sharper side of selfishness. Isn't there that famous quote, "If you love someone let them go"? It seems to fit perfectly here. Speaking of quotes, I'd copy and paste this entire story into this comment to gush about it if I could. But that last sentence especially hits like a sucker punch to the chest. I...

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T.H. Sherlock
21:54 Jul 06, 2021

Oh Ellie! You know how much I admire your writing and so these comments really mean a lot to me! Thank you so much - it’s made my day!

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Kanika G
10:33 Jul 02, 2021

This is such a beautiful, heartbreaking story. The twist when we realize Michael is gone hits hard and harder on re-reading the story. You've written in beautifully. I know you mentioned it's not flowing too well, but I think it's come out really well. Both the characters are fleshed out well and the reader feels for both of them. She's moving on after five years, but in some ways, she's still stuck with him. He feels sad on seeing her heartbroken and yet, when he realizes she's moving on, he feels worse - that's the irony. Wonderful job on ...

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T.H. Sherlock
21:30 Jul 04, 2021

Thank you Kanika! You're right - I did struggle with this one. Isn't it funny how some stories flow easier than others? But, yes, I wanted to show an almost selfish side to Michael in that he wants to be remembered even if its for her painful to dwell upon. I kind of wanted to tie up his influence with the power she gives Michael in her memory too. In a way she creates his presence there by refusing to let go too - I'm not sure that came across though!

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Kanika G
01:35 Jul 05, 2021

I think it came across well. Because in the end when he realizes she's moving on, his influence on her also starts declining at the same time. It was a good concept and a well-executed story. Well done!!

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Batool Hussain
08:00 Jun 29, 2021

Oh My God! This is beautiful. "I love her." "I hate her." The switch of tracks in these two lines is something only you can do. Wow. I'm a fan (again;) you wrapped up the story so smoothly. A 10/10 read!

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T.H. Sherlock
21:22 Jul 04, 2021

Thank you so much Batool - I'm so glad you liked it. I've had a few weeks off writing so it was a bit of a struggle. I guess I wanted to blur the lines between resenting someone but also feeling strongly for them at the same time.

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Nandini Panchal.
13:55 Jun 09, 2022

What a beautiful story! Your descriptions are A1 and they instantly connect to the reader. I have this happening with my neighbours so I can say your words really brought the feeling in me!

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Unknown User
21:25 Jul 05, 2021

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T.H. Sherlock
22:36 Jul 06, 2021

'All ghost stories are love stories' - what a brilliant concept! I didn't consciously think of Ghost when I was writing this but I can definitely see why it compares. Thank you so much for the feedback - I really appreciate it. I struggled a bit not being able to write any form of dialogue between the two characters. I'm also more of a reader than a writer, but since I started writing I've tried to be more mindful when I do read instead of racing through the pages just to reach the end.

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