A Hurried Goodbye: A Farewell from the Car and the Return Home
He stepped out of the car and bid his lover a tender farewell before heading home. Arriving at the flat, he paused outside for a moment, wrestling with how to break the news to his wife. He climbed the stairs and unlocked the door.
“Hello,” called Edward. “Are you home, Margaret?”
“I am,” replied his wife, indifferent. “Hello. Shall I start frying the steaks?”
Edward vowed to himself hed be directconfident and firm, as a man ought to be! It was time to end his double life before his lovers kisses lost their warmth, before he was swallowed again by the tedium of routine.
“Margaret,” Edward cleared his throat, “Ive come to say we must separate.”
Margaret took the news with surprising calm. She had always been unshakable, which was why Edward affectionately called her “Frosty Margaret.”
“Really?” she asked from the kitchen doorway. “Should I not fry the steaks, then?”
“Whatever you prefer,” said Edward. “Fry them if you like, or dont. Im leavingIm with someone else.”
Most wives would have thrown something at their husband after such a declaration. But Margaret wasnt like most wives.
“Of course you are, with your dramatics,” she replied. “Did you fetch my boots from the cobbler?”
“No,” Edward faltered. “If it matters, I can go get them now!”
“Oh, Edward,” Margaret sighed. “Send a fool to buy boots, and youll get the old ones back.”
Edward bristled. The separation announcement wasnt going as planned. Where was the emotion? But what else could he expect from a wife nicknamed Frosty Margaret?
“Margaret, are you even listening?” he snapped. “Im leaving. Im moving in with another woman, and all you care about is boots!”
“Right,” she said. “Unlike me, youre free to go where you please. Your boots arent at the cobbler. Nothings holding you back.”
Theyd been together a long time, yet Edward still couldnt tell if she was serious or sarcastic. Back then, hed fallen for her gentle nature, her knack for avoiding conflict, her quiet efficiency. Not to mention her domestic skills and undeniable charm.
Margaret was steady, loyal, and cold as an anchor. But now Edward loved anothera burning, forbidden, intoxicating passion! It was time to draw a line and start anew.
“Margaret, I thank you for everything, but Im leaving because I love another woman, not you.”
“What a shock!” Margaret exclaimed. “You dont love mehow original! My mother fancied the neighbour, my father loved dominoes and whisky. And look how I turned out.”
Edward knew arguing with Margaret was futile. Every word from her was weighted. His resolve wavered, and he refused to be drawn into a quarrel.
“Youre wonderful, Margaret,” he said, resigned. “But I love anotherwildly, madly. Im leaving, understand?”
“Another?” she asked. “Is it Emily Whitaker?”
Edward recoiled. A year ago, hed had a fling with Emilybut he never imagined Margaret knew!
“How do you know about that?” he began, then stopped. “Never mind. Its not Emily.”
Margaret yawned.
“Then it must be Charlotte Blythe? Youd move in with her?”
A chill ran down Edwards spine. Hed also had an affair with Charlotte, but that was over. If Margaret knew, why had she stayed silent? Ah, yesshe was ironclad, unshaken.
“No, not Charlotte or Emily. Its someone else, the woman of my dreams. I cant live without her, and Im going. Dont try to stop me!”
“Then its got to be Sophie,” muttered Margaret. “Oh, Edward what a poorly kept secret! Your dream woman is Sophie Harrow. Thirty-five, one child, two miscarriages Am I right?”
Edward clutched his head. Shed nailed it! He was indeed involved with Sophie Harrow.
“But how did you know?” he stammered. “Did someone tell you? Were you following me?”
“Simple, Edward,” Margaret replied. “Im a gynaecologist. Ive examined nearly every woman in this town, while youve only managed a few. It didnt take much to catch you out.”
Edward steadied himself.
“Suppose youre right! Even if its Sophie, it changes nothing. Im going to her.”
“Youre a fool, Edward,” said Margaret. “You couldve at least asked me first! Theres nothing special about Sophiesame as the others, medically speaking. Have you seen your muses records?”
“N-no” he admitted.
“Well, then. Go wash up. Tomorrow, Ill speak to Dr. Whitmorehell see you at the clinic without delay,” said Margaret. “Then well talk. Really, a doctors husband should know better than to pick an unhealthy mistress!”
“What should I do?” Edward asked, deflated.
“Ill fry the steaks,” Margaret said. “You go wash up and do as you please. If you want a perfect muse, trouble-free, just ask me. I can recommend someone”
**Life lesson: The truth has a way of surfacing, often from the most unexpected places. Before chasing illusions, its wise to look at whatand whomyou already have.**
