The Ashes of Marriage

Chapter 7

"Bram, this isn't one of my romance novels where I will choose you and now, we live happily ever after," I say, with tears flowing down my face. "We have issues, tremendous problems, and forgive me for still being a little hurt over the fact you have emotionally connected to another woman for MONTHS."

"How has your writing been going? I can help but notice in the past year you have talked much about publishing?"

"Don't change the subject."

"We are the subject. I have changed nothing," Bram says. "In college, I was the muse for your writings. That's why you wrote romance over mystery and horror, right?"

He is right, of course. I've known my entire life I would be a writer. I thought I would write the greatest literary works, but so far, I've published 3 romance novels that have been moderately successful. Two years ago, I started writing what I called my masterpiece. I've written 3 chapters so far and could not find inspiration to write more. My publisher doesn't even call to hassle me about it anymore. I literally lost the passion to write.

"Ali, I watch you go through the motions every day. I'm the reason the bills are paid, and the house isn't in foreclosure. I have worked my ass off to make sure you have the time you need to pull yourself together."

He is right again. Bram started coaching high school basketball this past year to make a little extra money. He works as an admissions counselor for a local college and is working to get his master's in business administration. Bram juggles a lot of things, and he never complains about the work, he just does it. I love him for this, but my anger won't let me say that.

"We had dreams, remember? Travel the world, push our careers forward, and have kids. We wanted those things. What changed? "

I changed. I began withdrawing after I published the third novel. Bram kept pushing forward with his education and career, and I fell into a depression worse than I had ever seen. I didn't know how to get out. Honestly, I'm still working to get out.

"Ali, TALK TO ME. PLEASE. GET OUT OF YOUR HEAD." I can hear the frustration in his voice. I look at him to speak, to say what's been going on, but my voice falters.

"Ali..."

"Bram, this is the last year I will do this. I promise."

"You've said this before!"

"I mean it!" I sob as I reach in my backpack purse and pull out the key to the storage unit and put it in Bram's hand. I return the purse to the floor by my feet. "After this time, you can clear the unit. Burn the case files. I don't want to keep living this way."

"How can I be sure you don't have a spare key or other copies? You are a writer, and writers love theatrical gestures."

That stings, but he's right. I have more keys and digital copies of the files. I stay silent.

"Right...like I thought." Bram stands up and comes over to me. He bends over and kisses my forehead. The kiss lingers and I hear him take a deep breath of my scent. After a few moments, he stands straight and grabs his suitcase. He puts the key on the table. "Goodbye Ali." He turns and begins walking towards the garage door.

"No, Bram!" I jerk out of my seat and rush to follow him. As I do, my feet get twisted in the straps of my backpack purse and I stumbled forward. I put out my arms to break my fall. As I prepare to hit the floor, I hear a hard thump followed by ringing in my ears and my vision blurs. My body crumples and darkness overtakes my sight. I hear Bram yelling my name, but he sounds so distant.

"Alllliii...."

I give in and the darkness wins.