(Highest ranking: #253 in Chicklit - 3 October 2017) Cynthia finds lipstick on her husband's shirt and it isn't her shade. She goes out for a walk trying to process the shocking news of her husband's infidelity, and that's when she finds Stacy, a wo...
Cynthia was a jumble of emotions as she drove to the school. On the one hand, she had a heartfelt conversation with someone that was already becoming a dear friend so she was happy and relieved. On the other hand, she wondered if she has said too much too quickly. This was only the second meeting of their friendship, and already, Stacy knew all about Cynthia's troubled past and present. What was the timeline on these things? How long was she supposed to wait before pouring her heart out?
She wouldn't know. As a child, she hardly had friends let alone best friends. She was always so focused on getting good grades and honing her piano skills, that she didn't have time to socialize. She had a couple of girls that she sometimes hung out with in college, but they were borderline acquaintances. So how long are you supposed to wait before you move bases with a friend? She had no clue.
Cynthia always made the dinner at her house. On the rare occasion that she didn't, it was when she and the kids had to go on some business dinner with Andrew and his colleagues. But that day, on her way home, she stopped by a grocery store to buy some frozen food. She didn't want to make dinner and she wasn't going to force herself. If Andrew didn't like it, well, the kitchen was open for him to go find something else.
"What is this garbage?" Andrew said when she brought the dinner to his seat on the table. She had anticipated that. He sometimes said the same even for dinners she spent five hours on.
"You don't like it?"
"Can't you at least be decent enough to make good food for your own kids?!" As always. It hurt her that he didn't care that the kids were there.
This time she wasn't going to meekly say that she was sorry and would do better tomorrow. "Well, the kids aren't the ones complaining. If you don't like it, the kitchen is open. Go make yourself something else."
He almost snapped his neck with how quickly he turned to look at her. She never spoke back to him like that. "What is wrong with you? Are you on your period or something?"
"For God's sake, the kids are listening, Andrew! And FYI, no I'm not on my period. Like I said if you don't like the food feel free to make something else."
"You look fat," he snapped back. He knew that would hurt her and that's exactly what he wanted.
She wasn't going to take this. Not today. "Well, did you look in the mirror, honey? So do you." Then, she pushed her chair back, making it screech loudly on the tiles, threw her fork on the table making it land just a few centimeters shy of his plate, and she made her dramatic exit to the bedroom.
"Cynthia! Get back here!" He shouted after. "Cynthia!"
She slammed the bathroom door, turned both the shower and the bathtub taps on so she could drown out his screaming, locked the door and sat on the mat in front of it, shaking.
A few seconds in, she could see the bathroom handle turning. He started knocking once he realized it was locked. "Cynthia! Stop acting like a little girl! Get out of there!"
She stood up, grabbed a towel, and tied it around her head so she couldn't hear him. Then she sat on the edge of the bathtub and let the tears flow.
She wasn't crying because she was hurt by what he said, but because of how shaken she was. As much as she wished she could be unfazed, and as much as she had faked it today, it terrified her to stand up to him and to deal with the monster he turned into afterward. Emotionally, she was as weak as a dry stalk. The slightest wind of confrontation could break her down.
When she had managed to calm herself down, she dropped a bath bomb into the now filled tub and got in.
The heat of the water and the loosening tension of the night, made her fall asleep in the tub. When she woke up everything around her was silent. She got out of the tub, put on her slippers and robe, and went downstairs. It was 1:35 AM in the morning. She had slept for over five hours.
Andrew hadn't bothered to clear the table, and for one who apparently thought he was eating garbage, he had done a pretty good job of clearing his plate. "Of course, he did! The hypocrisy!" She thought.
She debated clearing the table right then or waiting until morning. The kid's room was downstairs. She wouldn't want to wake them unnecessarily.
Back upstairs, Andrew was fast asleep. Was he still angry? She tried to convince herself that she shouldn't care, that it didn't matter if he was angry or not. She had to stand up for herself regardless of how he took it. But in reality, she was afraid of being on anyone's bad side. She didn't want anyone angry at her. She didn't want anyone hating her. Not even him.
She got in bed next to him, and for the next couple of hours, she couldn't get herself to sleep. Her thoughts kept going in a cycle. At first, she would think back to the events of the past evening, get agitated at worked up. She would decide that she had better think about the happier afternoon. Then she would imagine herself telling Stacy about the evening, and re-live it all over again.
The next morning was Saturday. When she woke up, Andrew was gone. He often spent his weekends out of the house doing overtime at the office or hanging out with his business partners. But he usually wouldn't leave before 9:00. It was 7:00 when she woke up and his spot next to her was already empty. Would he have gone to the office that early?
Later, when she was doing yet another batch of laundry, she had a better guess of where her husband might be. Inside one of his jackets, she found a tampon. Not her brand.
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