Henry’s been gone, away on business so he says. I’m turning into the pathetic woman I told myself never to become. Alone in her bed, watching the sun rise and fall, hoping for a revelation, but never getting one. Picking up the half-full bottle of wine, bringing it to my lips, I drink until the final drops are on my tongue. Picking up the bottle from my nightstand, I take a handful of sleeping pills, not enough to be dangerous, just enough to sleep for a while. Drifting in and out of consciousness I finally close my eyes and forget about everything. The bed sinks in, and I feel a warm hand brushing my hair away from my face. I will myself to wake up, but decide against it. I’m dreaming. I smile, touching the hand of a man I don’t know. This isn’t Henry. I know Henry’s hands. These hands are familiar. Maybe it is Henry, and he’s trying to be a better man and husband. Lips are on my cheek, and I feel his hand resting on the other side of the bed.
