Kirsten stopped at the deli near her house on her way home from therapy and picked up a couple of sandwiches and some potato salad for dinner that night. She still couldn’t believe how much better her knee felt after her evaluation and treatment with Jordan. She’d had physical therapy a few years ago for an injury to her shoulder, but that had paled in comparison to what she’d just experienced. Everyone at the clinic was friendly and professional, and she knew she would receive excellent care. She still was shaking her head about the fact that Jordan was her physical therapist.
The night she’d met Jordan was one she would never forget. She’d felt a connection to her that she hadn’t ever felt with anyone else. There was something about her, something she felt she had to know. She had to know Jordan, the woman.
She pulled her car into the garage. The house was dark, and John’s car wasn’t there. She was upset that she was going to spend another night alone. She was also irritated at John’s lack of consideration; he could have at least called or texted to let her know he wouldn’t be home for dinner—again.
Kirsten carried their dinner into the kitchen and placed John’s sandwich in the refrigerator. She got out a plate, scooped out some potato salad, and placed her sandwich onto it. Then she grabbed a fork and a bottle of water and went to sit at the kitchen table. She was midway through her sandwich when John finally got home. Kirsten looked at the clock. It was seven thirty.
“Were you working late tonight, John?” She tried to keep the ire out of her voice.
“Yeah. Research for this trial is kicking my ass. It starts in two weeks, and I feel like I’m not prepared. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to call.” John looked at her plate. “Didn’t cook again tonight, huh?”
Kirsten banged her fork on the table and stared at him incredulously. “I had my physical therapy appointment tonight, and I just got home. I figured if you wanted to eat before eight thirty, I wasn’t going to cook. Besides, it’s not like you’re the only one working in this family.”
John looked shocked by her outburst. “I’m sorry. I just figured since I was working late, and you get home before me, that you would cook dinner.”
“How was I supposed to know you were working late? You didn’t tell me. No phone call, no text. Do you think I can read minds all of a sudden?”
Kirsten threw her arms up in the air, frustrated with this argument. She was yelling and felt like she was losing control. She took some deep breaths and closed her eyes. When she felt calm, she opened her eyes and gazed at him.
“When we were first married, we shared in the housework and cooking, but in the past year, you seem to be doing less, and I’m doing more. When did you start thinking of me as a housewife that does all the cooking and cleaning while you watch television or hang out with your friends?”
“I didn’t realize this bothered you so much. Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“Because we haven’t spent any time together lately, and we hardly speak to one another. If we happen to be home at the same time, we’re not even in the same room. We don’t show each other any type of affection, and that’s my fault, too.” Kirsten sighed and looked up from her plate. “John, I have to ask you a question, and I want you to be totally honest with me. Do you still love me?”
“Of course I do. Why would you even ask that?”
“Okay, let me ask you another question. Do you still desire me?”
John’s hesitation was the only answer Kirsten needed. Her stomach clenched, and she was nauseous. She got up and threw her food in the trash, dropped her plate in the sink, and started to walk out of the kitchen. John grabbed her by the arm, and she turned around to look him in the eyes.
“I’m sorry, Kirsten. Things have changed between us, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the pressure I’m feeling because of this trial. The outcome could be very important for my career at the firm. I don’t know. Please believe me when I tell you I love you.”
“But you’re not in love with me. You know, John, I’m not sure you can blame this trial. We’ve been drifting apart for longer than you’ve been working on this case. I didn’t see it when it first began, but I’ve been seeing it lately. No, it’s not the trial’s fault. It’s ours.” Tears welled in her eyes when John remained silent, and she turned to leave.
Kirsten numbly climbed the stairs, and when she reached the top of the landing, she heard the garage door open and John’s car leave. It saddened her more than she wanted to admit that John had chosen to leave rather than stay and fight for their marriage. She walked into the bathroom, started the shower, and undressed. She stepped under the hot spray and let the water mix with her tears.
She shouldn’t have been shocked by his admission since she’d been seeing the signs herself, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. She felt like a failure; like she had failed her marriage, failed John, and failed herself. If she had seen the withdrawal when it had first began, maybe she could have done something to fix it. Maybe there was still a chance to fix it.
But was that what she wanted?