Naomi let out a tired puff of air as she threw down her bags and collapsed into the nearest chair. “It’s so good to be home. I’ve never been so desperate to get back.” Ashton pulled in their luggage into the living room and then rifled through the mail he had collected on his way into the house. “Oh, put that away.” Naomi complained. “We’ve just got back. Whatever it is, I’m sure we can look at it later.” “There might be something important,” he mumbled, his head lowered as he pretended to read through his mail while ambling over to his study. He tightened his lips into a hard, thin line. How should he tell Naomi that he didn’t love her? That he never had. When was it ever the right time to break-up with someone who had spent three years of her life with him? When she was happy and in a mood to cope with the tragedy of it? Or when she was already depressed and sad? Perhaps, he could just slip his feelings for his wife somewhere into one of those times.
