Dearly Beloved

08 | waiting

C L A I R E
08 | waiting

I feel like glass particles shattered, with sharp edges but fragile still.

My world has disappeared since I left home and came to my parents' place. Every day passes monotonously.

All I have done these last three days is stay locked in my old room, a black cloud of ominousness lingering above me, crying a pool of tears, and staring at my phone, waiting for a call from the man I left behind.

He has to call me. I know Vaughn. He would call me. He can't live without me just like I can't live without him.

I curl into a ball, wishing to disappear within myself, letting the dread of not being back to him drag me down.

He loves me, right? He would come for me. Then why hasn't he?

It has been three days with no response from Vaughn. My children call me every day, begging me to come home. I don't dare to. It is necessary to stay away from Vaughn, to make him see the error of his ways, to make him feel how much he is hurting me.

The phone in my hand is cold as I keep waiting for the screen to light up with his name. It doesn't do that. Everybody calls, except for him. Perhaps I should get a new phone. What if he is calling me but technology is failing him?

But then again, he would have come here then. He wouldn't have made me wait this desperately. He wouldn't have let me drown in my tears.

The door to the room opens and I lift my head from my pillow, gleaming with hope that it is Vaughn who would step in. It's not him.

It is Mom who walks in. Dressed in her night clothes with her hair tied in a bun, she walks inside with slow steps.

My mother hasn't aged much which is strange because these past few days, my heart is the one that has grown old. She looks pretty while I am a mess of my husband's making.

I sigh, defeatedly falling back over my silk pillow, going back to stare at the phone screen like it holds the other end of my life which would help me survive from getting pulled underwater.

The bed dips to my side as Mom settles herself, her hand lifting to lightly touch the strands of blonde hair falling over my eyes - hair I haven't washed in three days. She smoothes them with gentle fingers, her lips pursing to a firm line.

"What do you want?" I speak abashedly, her presence not comforting the least when it is not her that I want.

It is Vaughn. Only Vaughn can pull me back from the edge before I jump.

"Are you serious about the divorce?" she asks, her voice a barely there sound as the bitter question greets my ears, making me bristle at even the thought of a possibility.

"No," I answer with a flat voice.

"This shouldn't be happening," Mom says. "Vaughn is being an asshole."

I blink at her choice of vocabulary. I have never heard my mother speak with indifference about my husband after my marriage. Vaughn is like a son to her, although a part of her is still upset with him for making her lose precious years with her grandson by keeping him a secret. She is generally more acceptable and amiable, a complete contrast to my Dad.

"You think so?"

"I do think so," she answers. "Vaughn is being a dick and you don't deserve to mourn his absence this way. You have been stuck in this room for three days now. You don't even open the fucking curtains! Come out, be with your family. Your Dad and I are worried."

"I'm not leaving this room until my husband comes back and takes me home," I declare, dragging myself up from the bed. My body feels weak as I do. "He has to come."