Fiction – 2 minute Read
She knows. My wife knows that I don’t love her anymore. Tonight, I accidently saw her at the supermarket. We’d had a blazing fight last night and all day we had been at separate activities. Last night my wife thought that we were making love. Something I did showed her that I was having sex.
She’s slightly hunched which looks so alien as she is the upright, brisk type. It’s also obvious to me that she is deliberating wasting her time, looking at items for ages with no inclination to buy, moving slowly – anything to prolong the time when she would have to leave and come home. Deal with me.
She did not know that I was watching her. Even at distance I could see her eyes. Dull, empty. I did feel a pang. They used to sparkle and thunder.
I lost sight of her for a bit then caught her again at the cashier. She’s being polite, saying thank you. The sullen youth does not acknowledge her at all. I feel a rage rise within me towards this stupid teenager for treating my wife that way, as though she is invisible. I may no longer be in love with her but I do, most definitely care deeply for her.
I got back to what I came there for. I too, spent more time in the wine department than I really needed to. I never knew what happened to the red wine I bought that night.
It was several days before I had all the details. Police work and cameras produced facts but not the whole story.
She paid for the items and was viewed leaving the store. She left everything including her bag and phone in the carpark. Unbelievably, all of it was handed in to the service counter at the supermarket.
I’m leaving the mall and people are standing around. A car horn is blasting, loud and relentless. Other people are moving, running towards the sound. I see people with phones out, recording. That horrendous noise is stuck and I can see it now, the car wedged front end under the truck. Any roof left is flat. Lights from the truck illuminate the horror.
My wife, whom I am no longer in love with, is gone.