That night, Brent never came to bed.
Outside, the snow fell harder, and the wind howled until I couldn't close my eyes.
I lay on my side, watching each flake drift down and melt away.
It carried me back to that bitter winter three years ago.
A cramped little rental, the two of us holding each other close for warmth.
In the pitch-black dark I couldn't see his face.
But I heard his voice, steady and certain.
"If I can't even give you a warm home, then what kind of man am I?"
He worked hard, he pushed himself, and in the end he got everything he wanted.
That was the year we finally had a home, the year we never had to shiver again because we couldn't pay the heating bill.
Whatever I wanted, he'd hand it to me with both hands.
The fridge was always full. I never once set foot in the kitchen.
I didn't even know where the trash bags were kept.
He really did take such good care of me. So good I almost forgot how to look after myself.
And it was exactly that goodness that made me lose my mind the day I found that lipstick.
The Brent back then truly loved me. That he doesn't love me now is just as true.
After I got up, I packed my clothes into a suitcase.
Brent hadn't gone to work. He dragged himself, exhausted, to the bedroom door.
"Stop this, Deidre."
"I'm not doing anything."
I said.
"What is it going to take for you to agree to the divorce?"
He stared at me blankly, like he was looking at a stranger.
"You never used to be like this."
He was right, this wasn't how I did things. But what I feared more was the version of me thirty years from now.
Afraid of her, who suffered through everything and still came to no good end.
Afraid of the happiness she'd clawed back with her own hands, the happiness that crushed her in the end.
I looked at Brent for a long moment.
Then he suddenly smiled.
"Sure. But not until I've had my fun."
"You want to lose it, I can lose it too."
That night, Brent brought a woman home.
The two of them tangled together right in front of me.
One look and I knew, this wasn't her.
Brent strode into the bedroom, pushed the woman down, and pinned her under him.
The light from the living room fell across him, but I stayed perfectly calm, sitting on the couch without a word.
"Deidre. Go downstairs and buy me a box of condoms."
Like a taunt, he turned his head back to look at me on purpose.
I clenched my fist, holding down everything that wanted to erupt.
I walked into the bedroom, pulled open the drawer, took out the box, and tossed it under him.
Brent spoke to me again.
"Do you still want this divorce or not?"
"I told you to go downstairs and buy some."
I said it through my teeth, standing right beside Brent.
"You'll keep your word."
He gave a nod, something between a smile and not.
By the time I came back, Brent was already dressed and sitting on the couch.
And the woman had just come out of the bathroom, wearing my silk nightgown.
I no longer cared about the person, let alone one piece of clothing.
I set the condoms I'd bought on the coffee table, then dropped a few sheets of paper, damp from the snow, down beside them.
"Brent. Don't go back on your word."
I'd already signed my name on them.
All Brent had to do was sign, and I'd be free. Free from suspicion, from doubt, from betrayal.
Free from every ounce of torment waiting for me in that other time.
He picked up the pen, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
Then he drew a turtle right on the signature line.
"Deidre, you're making divorce sound far too easy."
The moment that turtle was finished, my fury hit its peak.
I snatched the fruit knife off the table and drove it straight into Brent's chest.
He looked almost satisfied, and pushed the blade in a little deeper himself.
"There she is. This is the Deidre I fell in love with."
