The Wife – Part Four: Till Death Do Us Part. ML Roberts

the shower, my skin’s still damp, my body tingling with the memory of him pounding into me against the tiled wall as the water cascaded down over us. I shiver, and he laughs, a sound which vibrates into my shoulder and I shiver again.

      I turn around and look at him, all tall and handsome in nothing but his jeans, his dark-blonde hair pushed back off his face, those steel-grey eyes of his shining. He’s been a part of my life for so long, will I ever be able to let him go? That thought scares me, because this was never meant to be anything more than sex. Fun. An escape. I’m fighting for my husband, for that life I want back – I don’t want this. Not forever.

      I reach out, grab hold of the waistband of his jeans and I pull him towards me. I kiss him, and he smiles, and for one wonderful, fleeting moment everything feels okay. The darkness lifts and I see light, but it doesn’t last. The darkness always returns.

      He tucks a finger under my chin, and tilts up my face, his eyes locking on mine. ‘I hate seeing you so sad, Ellie. What I said before, about us leaving here, leaving all this shit behind, I still mean that. We can still do that.’

      ‘I can’t, Liam…’

      I pull away from him, walk out of the kitchen, into the living room. I don’t want to talk about leaving. I’m not leaving.

      ‘You and Michael – it’s over, Ellie.’

      I swing around to face him, shaking my head, I refuse to believe him.

      ‘And I’m not doing this to hurt you…’

      ‘Then stop saying it.’

      He comes over to me, and rests his palm against my cheek, forcing me to look at him. ‘He’s sleeping with a student. A student who’s pregnant…’

      ‘We don’t know it’s his.’

      ‘Jesus, Ellie, wake up! If it isn’t his then why the hell is he with her? All those meetings, those pictures Karl showed you… Baby, you need to stop fighting this. You’ve put your life on hold for far too long while he’s been out there living his. Without you.’

      I shake my head again, he’s wrong. He’s wrong.

      ‘He doesn’t love you anymore, how can he? But I do.’ He leans in to me, his thumb stroking my cheek, his mouth almost touching mine as he speaks. ‘I love you.’

      He kisses me, and I press my hand against his chest, feel his heart beating hard. Fast. I don’t want him to love me, so I should push him away and end this. I should. But I can’t. Without him I’m weak. Alone. I need him to lean on. Or do I really just need to feel loved…?