The husband confessed what’s hard to believe.
His wife told the story, hours into night.
He spun fictions, cheated, and didn’t leave.
The young son practiced a recitative.
From the car she watched, shining fierce headlights.
The husband confessed what’s hard to believe.
They lived near Stockholm by the sea. Naïve,
she trusted his work-call weekends. They’d fight.
He cheated over twelve years but couldn’t leave.
At a wedding, he vanished. New Year’s Eve.
Bachelor brothers mixed cocktails past midnight.
The husband spun stories no one believed.
Entering the hall, he grabbed her black-knit sleeve.
A quick kiss to sharpen his appetite.
“Drinks in your cottage? Shall we leave?”
He listed each affair, said he’s relieved.
Now he demands joint custody. That night
the husband confessed what she now believes.
A marriage of fractions. It’s time to leave.