«Am I Just in the Way?»
«I cant go on like this. Goodbye, Edward,» I wrote in that note, calm and steady, without a single exclamation mark. Edward would never read it. After a moments thought, I burned it.
…Long ago, Edward and I had fallen into a love that burned like wildfirefierce, consuming, reckless. We raced toward the edge without a care.
…Edward had a wife and three young children. I had two sons and a husband of my own. Everyone we knew thought wed lost our minds. «Have you both gone mad?» theyd say. «Think of your families!» But Edward and I noticed nothing else. To us, the world was emptyno obstacles, no regrets.
After our stolen moments, Id come to my senses and shudder at the thought of ever having Edwards child. Never. Not in a thousand years.
Edward spoke of his children with indifference. «Ive no great fondness for them,» hed say. «My wife wanted more. What did it matter to me?»
Honestly, it unsettled me. But I wasnt about to marry him! Let them have their broodthat was their affair.
…Three years later, Edward and I wed. We were happy, at peace. My sons, of course, stayed with me.
When Edwards children grew older, the trouble beganendless, cyclical. They called at midnight, showed up at his office, demanded he rush to their aid. The reason was always the same: money. Or rather, the lack of it. All three needed support, and Edward, ever the guilty father, never refused them. I understood. They knew it too and exploited his remorse without shame. Every whim was indulged. I pitied them, though I knew full well I was the villain in their eyes.
…Years slipped by. Grandchildren arrivedfive so far, with more to come. The eldest daughter fled an abusive husband in slippers, desperate for help with her three little ones. The youngest lived on benefits, a single mother perpetually short of funds yet determined to live beyond her means. And the middle son? A hopeless drunk, perpetually soused, paying alimony from Edwards pocket since he couldnt hold a job. His daughter, the spitting image of Edward, was doted on above all others.
Edward himself was drowning in debt, though his children never guessed. Only I knewand my sons, who begged me to leave this «side-lined sponsor.» Once, I asked Edward for perfume, just once. He raised his brows. «Darling, you know Ive no sense of smell. Why waste the money? Ill get it someday.»
«Somedayperhaps in a decade,» I murmured.
I stopped asking. There were always excuses: his eldest needed a private maternity suite (why not a shared ward?), his granddaughter a fur coat (wouldnt a down jacket do?), his thirty-year-old son new shoes (were the old ones truly beyond repair?).
Our fights were always about his grown children. «If we ever divorce, Edward,» Id say, «thank your brood for it!» Yet he swore he couldnt live without me. And me? I was exhausted. I wanted my own life, not one ruled by Edwards children. Their names rang through our home like a funeral knell.
I think of that line from an old film: «Well, Ive got family too, thank God!» I have my own sons and grandchildren who need love. Why couldnt I have stopped myself twenty years ago?
…The devils a cunning playwright, scripting each of our fates. I wouldnt wish his snare on anyone. My fault, really. As the saying goes, you reap what you sow. The fire between us died long ago. What once felt bottomless now has a floorand Ive hit it. Some days, its like living with stolen misery.
My eldest son moved away, settled with his own family. Hes asked me to join him for years.
Ive decided. Im leaving Edward for good. I wrote that note, then burned it. Hell understandor he wont. A scrap of paper wont change that.
P.S. I visited my children, my grandchildren. Stayed awhile with my younger son in Londonmarried to a proper Englishwoman, terribly precise. Their little one doesnt speak a word of Russian. What he sees in her, Ill never know. But love isnt about reason, is it?
Theyre all content, living softly, kindly. And that soothes my soul.
…A month later, I came back. The house was quiet, the air thick with the scent of dust and old decisions. Edward sat in his armchair, staring at nothing, a half-empty glass trembling in his hand. He didnt look up when I entered, only whispered, Youre back. I stood there, suitcase still in hand, and realized I wasnt returning to a lifeI was returning to a habit. The kind that wears you down slower than grief, quieter than regret. I set the case by the door. It would be easier to leave tomorrow. Or the next day. For now, I poured myself a glass of water, sat across from him, and said nothing. The silence, at least, was familiar.
