Confession

I should have looked around one more time. You never think of these things of course until it’s too late. I parked the car in the garage as usual, stepped out of the car with bag in hand, putting it down next to the door, a seamless gesture that is done automatically, daily, so many times before. I turn around and walk up the driveway towards the mailbox, waving at a neighbor in a passing car. Should I have looked up at the sky to see the approaching sunset? Should I have noticed the people walking their dogs or the kids playing all around. Could I have stopped to admire the spring flowers that could have made everything just a bit brighter, just for that brief moment. But I didn’t. I should have spent just a few more moments enjoying these nominal thoughts. I reached into the mailbox, just like any other day, closed the box and turned back towards the house. Pick up the bag, close the garage door and go inside my home, just like any other evening.

No return address or stamp on the plain manila envelope, just my name. I walk towards my husbands’ study, where all the bills and such go. Using his letter opener that I gave him one Valentines Day with an engraved pen as well, his initials and a heart with a sharp platinum tip. I grasped it looking at the heart with a slight smile and slid across the crease. I look inside and reach in. Pictures? Only 5 pictures. I held them in my hands and looked in disbelief. Is that my husband? Is that my best friend? And this is recent because he’s wearing the new tie, the one that I just bought him last week, while I was shopping, with her. My husband. My best friend. Holding hands? Trying to remember events, scattered in my memories. How long has this been going on? How did this come about? This isn’t something you do with a drunken accident or a one-night stand. Why didn’t I put 2 + 2 together?

The torn envelope and the 5 pictures are scattered on the desk. I’m sitting by the fireplace, staring into the flames, poking them to see the brilliant sparks that fly up and away like fireflies. Wide awake but in a hazy daze, a bit confounded. He walks in the door and says while walking up the stairs ‘going to jump in the shower, be down in a bit’. Not the usual ‘hey babe’ or the kiss on the cheek. I now of course think he’s going to wash her off him. Now these are the thoughts that run through my mind. This I will not accept; I cannot ever accept. He could have just said that it was over, I’m not one of those people that would beg to be with someone who clearly doesn’t want them around, and he knows that. The scene of this now playing in my mind would be somewhat bewilderment but for my dignity, my integrity, just stand up and say goodbye is what I would have done. It wouldn’t have been a messy separation, we have no children and just the house, give me half the value and I would walk away. I don’t want this house, who knows what they did here. I would have wanted to have a conversation - emotionless, motionless, if I could and about giving me time to leave and say goodbye. I’m trying to slow my breathing down so I can realize this reality that is happening. She’s my best friend. He’s, my husband. What is his state of mind? What could possibly be his reasoning for doing this and needing to have both? My thoughts are everywhere, I think I saw a photograph of what has yet to come of us, this impression of you with these tears for everything it was. Do I walk away or vent my anger on them for doing this to me? I think I should tell you how it feels like. I can write you this with the pen that has the same initials and heart etched on it and leave it here next to these pictures of your truth, this reality that was anonymously presented to me. I would like to think it was someone who saw this and wanted me to know the truth, someone who cared about me and not her, the best friend, maybe wanting to exchange places with me.  The matching set on your desk that I gave you, I keep staring at this gift, feeling so stupid and foolish. Or maybe I should show you how I really feels like. Since it was shown to me this way, deliberately, I think you should be deserving of this same punishment. Sorry babe, 2 + 2 will not equal you being happy. I walk over to the chair behind the desk. I take the letter opener and put it between the folds of the leather. I lower myself down and push the chair towards the wall, stabbing myself in the back, just like they did to me. I stand up, the letter opener with his initials, and the inscribed heart, in my back and stumble towards the patio door in the office. I touch the police button on the security pad, open the patio door and step out into the light rain falling. I look up while trying to make it a few steps before the pain brings me to my knees. I lay down on the pavers, my cheek resting on the damp stones. I hear the sirens in the distance.

They’ll find me when they look around the property, the doors will be open so they can enter easily. They’ll search the lower floors and hear the water running as they go up the stairs and catch him in the shower. They’ll maybe assume he’s washing off the evidence. He’ll come down the stairs and see me lying on the ground, but the police will hold him back. He’s startled, seeing me being examined on the ground with his letter opener in my back. They’ll bring him to the desk, and he will be shown the pictures as they start to interrogate him, asking if he did that to me. My eyes start to get heavy, and my breathing labored. 2+2 = 1…I won….