Michael and Susan

Chapter 12 (Susan): Subtle

Copyright © 2024 by GroveltoHEA

Walking into our house, I was surprised to see it was still as neat as it had been when I left it. Maybe a tiny bit of dust on the tables in the living room, but other wise in good condition. I peeked into our bedroom and was surprised to see the bed was made and there weren't any clothes on the floor. There was a tiny bit of tooth powder in the sink -- Michael still refused to change to toothpaste, saying he preferred his tooth powder -- but everything else was immaculate.

I hated that I wondered if he'd been staying at Linda's, even though his reaction when I'd asked if he was still seeing her the other night had seemed genuine. But maybe Michael had just gotten good at lying  to me, I thought dispiritedly.

I made my way to the kitchen where a beautiful bouquet of peonies sat in a vase. The contract was right next to it, and on top of the papers was a letter addressed to me.

Pulling out a kitchen chair, I sat down, opened the envelope and took out a folded piece of Michael's stationery. Did I hold it to my nose to see if there was a faint trace of English Leather on it? Yes, of course I did, but I immediately chastised myself for the besotted gesture.

Please don't let me down again, Michael, I thought to myself. You've been like a plant I forgot to water for a couple of weeks, practically dead. Please show some signs of life, as if I gave you some water.

Glancing at the peonies, I smiled at their vibrant pink petals, and I knew they'd come from the bushes in our backyard. He must have cut them this morning before he left for work, and I wondered how he'd had the time. 

I struggled with the guilt that came from knowing Michael had to make his coffee and his breakfast in the morning, as well as pack his lunch. Taking care of my husband in all ways was so ingrained in me as a wife and as a woman that it felt wrong when I thought of him handling these chores and tasks on his own. He worked; he shouldn't have to see to himself in all the ways he had to in my absence.

Yet on the heels of those thoughts came another one, a very simple one that lifted my chin as surely as if invisible fingers had tipped it up for me: he needs to learn and understand.

I was more than a puppet to do his bidding, waiting for him to pull my strings. I was more than a wife who fed him and kept his life running smoothly at home. I was more than someone he knew would always be at home, filling my time until he returned to me. 

Michael went to the office to work, but my office was our home. I worked just as surely as Michael did, and I wanted him to consider that when he just saw me as nothing more than a convenient wife, someone to be remembered when he gave me a thought. Someone he would never lie to again. Someone who held his interest so thoroughly that another woman would never be a thought in his mind. I had a right to expect a husband who told me the truth and who was faithful in every way there was to be, who didn't leave me sitting at home alone simply because I had been born to wait on my husband.

Slowly unfolding his letter, I noticed my fingers trembling a bit as I forced my eyes to read his words, hoping against hope that they would be words I wanted to read for the first time since I'd left.

Dearest Susan,

Everything is blooming in the yard, but nothing can compare to you. When I saw you the other night, you were in full bloom, looking so beautiful. No wonder Avon came calling for you. 

When I laid eyes on you, I felt like I was back in the Army and  Reveille was being played right in my face by the bugler. I woke up, and it was about time; what a kick that was to see you doing so well when I am a scrambled mess inside. What man wants to think his wife cannot only survive away from him but thrive? We're raised to protect and care for our wives, to shield them from the unpleasantness of life, and to discover my wife is doing just fine without me was humbling.