Veiled Affection

Chapter Seven

A woman who's life seemed practically perfect, had admitted to me in that moment that she wanted to divorce her husband. To say it came as a complete surprise would be undermining my true feelings. My reaction, however, didn't add up to my internal sense of shock, for my response was silence. The clock ticked eight strokes before some muffled chatter left my lips.

''But you... I don't understand - How could -''

''The only reason people think I have everything, June,'' She interrupted. ''Is because I have all the things you can see. I have none of the things you can't.''

As if she knew what the question marks were in my head, right then did she answer them all. And as I kept silent, she kept explaining: ''He taught me a lot, but not love. At least not true, affectionate love. We share our passion for various things, and I suppose that is why we bonded so hastily. But our likeness has made me blind of what I feel for him.''

''What do you feel for him, then?''

She thought for a moment before answering, ''Love of a different kind. I can't put a name to it, but not marriage love, anyway.''

To that I was silent again, and pondered: 'marriage love'... Was that what Greg and I had? Was that how I felt about him? How did I feel about him?

''When did you find it out?'' I continued to ask.

She sighed. ''Only for a while now. About a month, I guess. It was such a strange, terrifying moment. Sitting in my house, thinking, and not until that moment had I ever doubted my marriage, and then it just... happened.''

I looked at her, hidden inside me a sense of wonder. She sat, thought and then came to the realization her marriage wasn't right. A month before I stood on the terrace, thinking, and then it just... happened, like it had with her.

''What about you, huh?'' She asked as I stayed silent.

''What about me?''

''Yes. You, and Gregory.''

''Oh, well... I'm miserable.'' I said and smiled a little, but she didn't. Instead, she put her wine glass on the table, took my glass as well, sat it down, then took my hands in hers.

''Your hands are trembling.'' She softly said, and it was something I hadn't noticed up until that point. I swallowed deeply, then cleared my mouth and parted my lips a little, but no words came out, so I just sat there, growing aware of the softness of her skin, and the secured comfort of my hands in hers.

''Care to tell me your story?'' She asked. Her rooted tone seemed to come from deep down her frame and I avow on this: I felt her voice vibrate all the way into my fingers, where our skin made contact.

I smiled lightly. ''Only if you return the favor.''

She stared deep into my eyes as our hands stayed locked.

''Deal.''
__________

Keeping ourselves to the bargain, we told our stories, and, after that night, we shared a deeper understanding. There was such a gained intimacy of being understood by the other. No one could share our complicity. We found out that our lives were acutely similar in so many aspects. And truth be told, we both hadn't, up until that point, showed any signs of established realizations to our husbands. It was something that also ended up being mentioned.

''When are you going to tell him?'' I asked.

''I don't know,'' She answered. ''You?''

''I don't know.'' I responded, and we fell quiet for a moment.

''Will you tell him?'' I continued.

''Yes,'' She was fast to respond. ''Of course. I can't keep living like this.''