I married her to be the luckiest woman in the world.
Mark was tall, blond, with green eyes that looked made of blown glass. He was an engineer. He made good money. He had a house by the lake. A new car. A smile that made the panties melt at the supermarket orders s.
I met him at a party of mutual friends. He hadn’t noticed me right away. I do. I watched it all night. He was talking to everyone. He was joking. He laughed. It was the center of attention.
In the end, he noticed me. He approached. He asked me what my name was. I told him. He smiled. He didn’t say “pleasure.” He said “interesting.” Like I’m a puzzle to decipher.
He asked me out. I said yes. We went out for six months. He asked me to marry him in front of a fountain, at night, with the lights reflected in the water. I cried. I said yes.
Then we started living together. And there I started to notice the little things.
He didn’t say “I love you” first. I should have said it. And he said, “Me too.” Not “I love you too.” “Me too.” Like it’s a hassle.
He wouldn’t look at me when I was talking. He had his eyes on his phone. On TV. On the plate. Everywhere but me.
He wouldn’t take me by the hand in public. He walked in front. Me behind. Like a little dog.
He wasn’t taking me out to dinner. He said it was too expensive. But he was buying gym equipment he never used.
It didn’t surprise me with a gift. My last birthday rule had been a vacuum cleaner. I thanked him. He said, “There’s nothing to do with.” Like he did me a favor.
For eight years I thought, “Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m not enough. Maybe he’s like that. Maybe I have to accept it.”
Then I found out the truth.
Part Two
It was a Tuesday. He went to sleep early. I couldn’t sleep. My head was full of thoughts. Of work. Of the house. Of him.
His phone was on the nightstand. It was off. It was dark. Then he vibrated. The screen has lit up.
A message. From “Elena.s”
Elena was her ex. He told me about it at the beginning of the relationship. “We broke up because we weren’t compatible. She wanted things I couldn’t give her. It was a mutual decision.” I never thought about that. I’ve never given us weight.
The message read: “I think of you too. Every day. I miss you. I miss you so much.”
I read those words in the dark. My heart was pounding. My hands were shaking.
I looked at Mark. He was asleep. Her face was relaxed. Serena. Like he doesn’t have secrets. Like he had nothing to hide.
I got the phone. I unlocked it. I knew the code. It was our anniversary date. What an irony.
I went in the chat with Elena. I started flowing.
It hadn’t just started. It started years ago. Shortly after our marriage.
Message after message. Call after call.
“I miss you.” “I think of you.” “You were the love of my life.” “It’s not the same with her.” “I can’t stop loving you.”
And she answered. “Me too.” “Not me either.” “Why didn’t we stay together?” “Why did we let fear separate us?”
I read everything. All chats. All the calls. They lasted hours. Sometimes while I was at work. Sometimes while I was in the house. Sometimes while I was in the next room.
He was leaving the living room. He said “I’m going to the bathroom.” Instead, he went to the bedroom. He was closing the door. He called Elena.
And I didn’t know anything. I didn’t imagine anything.
Part Three
I spent the night reading.
At dawn, my eyes were dry with crying. The chest full of knots. The head that burst.
Mark woke up. He saw me sitting on the edge of the bed. With the phone in hand.
“What do you do?”
“I read your chats with Elena.”
Her face hasn’t changed. It didn’t bleach. He didn’t have a surprise reaction. He seemed almost relieved.
“Ah.”
“”Ah”? Just “ah”? Do you have anything to say?”
“What do you want me to say? Which is true. That I think of her. That I miss him. Which with you is not the same. You already know. You read it.”
“Why did you marry me?”
“Because you were there. Because you were comfortable. Because after the end with Elena I needed someone to fill my void. And you came.”
“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I spent eight years wondering what I was wrong with. What I had to do to be loved the way I deserved. And it wasn’t my fault. It was your fault. You never loved me. I’ve never been your choice. I was your fallback.”
He didn’t respond. He got up. He went to the bathroom. He locked the door.
I felt the water flowing. I don’t know if he was washing or if he was crying. I didn’t care.
I got up. I took my stuff. I called a cab. I left the house. I didn’t turn around.
Part Four
Sono andata da mia sorella.
Vive a venti minuti da me. Non l’avevo avvisata. Ho suonato il campanello alle sette del mattino. Ha aperto in pigiama.
“Sister, what happened?”
“Mark was cheating on me. With Elena. Not physically. But emotionally. For eight years. He married me because I was comfortable. Because I was there. Because I needed someone to fill the void.”
My sister hugged me. He didn’t say anything. No need for words.
I stayed with her for a week.
Mark didn’t call me. He didn’t write to me. He didn’t show up.
Maybe he was relieved. Maybe he was just waiting for me to leave. Maybe my place in his life had always been temporary.
I called a lawyer. I filed for divorce. The lawyer said, “Ma’am, is your husband cheating on you? Do you have evidence?”
“Not physically. But he has chat. Calls. Messages. Where he tells another woman that he loves her. That she misses her. Which with me is not the same.”
“It’s emotional betrayal. In some states it counts. In others not. In Colorado, unfortunately, it doesn’t count for much. But we can use it to ask for a favorable deal.”
“I don’t want his money. I don’t want the house. I don’t want anything. I just want to never see him again.”
“Ma’am, think about it. Divorce is an important decision.”
“I thought about it. For eight years. Now I have decided.”
Part Fifth
On the day I signed the cards, I met Mark for the last time.
We were in the lawyer’s office. He was sitting across the table. He looked older. More tired. More off.
Perhaps without me, without my love, without my presence, he felt free. Or maybe he felt lonely. I’ll never know.
“Mark,” I said, “can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Why didn’t you choose her? Why didn’t you come back to Elena? Instead of being with me for eight years, pretending. Why didn’t you look for it? Why didn’t you try?”
He looked down. “I was afraid.”
«Paura di cosa?»
«Paura che mi rifiutasse. Paura di restare solo. Paura di scoprire che nemmeno con lei sarebbe stato come prima. Così ho scelto la soluzione più facile. Stare con te. Che eri sicura. Che non mi avresti lasciato. Che mi avresti amato comunque.»
«Ti ho amato. Per otto anni. Ho dato tutto. E tu hai preso tutto. E non hai mai dato niente in cambio. Solo briciole. Solo “anch’io”. Solo silenzi. Solo assenze.»
«Lo so. E mi dispiace.»
“I don’t need your displeasure. I need you to understand. That you don’t do that. That you don’t use a person. That you don’t pretend to be love. That you don’t steal eight years of life from someone who could have been happy with another. With someone who would have really loved her.”
He didn’t respond. He signed. He’s out.
I never saw him again.
