Breach

I stare dumbly at my phone now resting innocently in the palm of my hand. However this device isn’t innocent. No, it’s far from it. Rather, it isn’t the phone that’s guilty but me. I guess I just prefer to blame the phone since it’s just an inanimate object.

My work has been long forgotten, lying on the desk before me. How did I forget it so easily? My work has always been number one. It doesn’t matter who it was that was calling me. It didn’t matter what they wanted to talk about. My work came first and that’s that.

Somehow that boy caught my attention so easily. All he did was text me. That’s it! If Jean were to walk in now insisting on speaking I would say I’m busy or I have a lot of work to do. Then she would leave and I’d get to work.

Yet the moment Bishop asks to talk I call him and listen to his endless ranting about his parents. All he did was cry about how everything is so messed up now. He cried about how he really does love his parents but doesn’t want to admit to it because of their endless terrible parenting.

Looking at the clock I realize that we were on the phone for almost two hours. I know for a fact we didn’t speak of his parents for two hours. It had to have only been fifteen minutes, which means most of that time we weren’t even talking about anything important.

To make things worse I’m not even really bothered by it. Normally I’d be infuriated because someone interrupted me while in the mist of working…but I’m not even the least bit angry about that. It’s more like I’m concerned.

About?

Well isn’t it obvious? A boy can catch my attention quicker and more efficiently than my wife. Something is obviously wrong with me.

Biting my lip, I shake all thoughts of Jean and Bishop from my mind. I have work that needs to be done. I should be focusing on that.

~

I know I’ve mentioned it before, that I saw this coming but that doesn’t make me any less shocked when I hear Jean say it. Jean, somehow knowing without me having to say anything, notices that I was questioning if I heard her correctly so she looks me dead in the eye and repeats herself, “I want a divorce.”

She didn’t even bother sugar coating it. She didn’t explain why, she doesn’t have to since it’s obvious why, or how much she really doesn’t want to, but by the looks of it she really does want to. She just says those four words so easily.

I know she had to have been thinking about it a lot recently so her being so blunt shouldn’t shock me but it does. Maybe it’s because I honestly don’t want this. I don’t want us to part. Thinking of living on my own, without her, makes a shiver run down my spine. I can’t remember what it’s like to be without her anymore. It bothers me.

I wish, I really, really wish that we could go back to the way things were. We were happy once, blissfully happy. I want so badly for that to be again. I want that feeling of euphoria that used to come by her every touch and that smile that would come from the sound of her laughter.

I know that it isn’t going to happen though.

It was obvious that it would come eventually. It was all just a matter of time. Either she would demand for the divorce or I would. Jean just beat me to it…I have a feeling she would have beat me to it no matter what. Even after all our arguments I couldn’t bring myself to even think about asking for a divorce.

“Yeah, I know…” I reply more to myself than her because I do know. And by the look on her face I can tell that she knew that I saw it coming all along.

She smiles sadly at me, apologetically really. Our fingers intertwine over the table and I realize that it’s not only her that’s shaking slightly but me as well. Looking into her eyes I see the same emotions swimming through her that are in me.

One look at either of us and anyone could see that we wished for this marriage to work out but Jean and I know that it can’t. We’ve been trying for too long and nothing has come of it. It’s time to separate before we grow too sick of each other.

Jean begins to twiddle our fingers together like she used to do long ago. “I’ve already contacted a friend of mine who is willing to let me stay at her place. I’m looking for a job as we speak and I plan to be out of the apartment in a couple days.”

“Do you need help packing?” Although I ask her this I pray for an answer in the negative. At the shake of her head I keep myself from sighing in relief.

“I’ll be all right but um…I think it’d be best if you kept away from the apartment for a few days.”

I nod in agreement. “That’d probably be for the best.”

I have no desire to watch my wife—or should I start calling her my ex-wife?—leave me. If I see her walking out I may just end up going insane and demanding that we stop the divorce. You never know.

Jean begins running her finger over my wedding band. I watch her stare at the golden ring like it’s the most amazing thing she has ever had the pleasure of laying her eyes on. She turns my hand over, runs her fingers over my palm then the band once more. Jean lets out a sorrowful sigh, one that I copy.

“I wish we could have worked Antony, don’t forget that,” Jean whispers sincerely.

I grasp her hand tightly in my own. I wonder if the grip I have on her is painful but when she doesn’t request for me to lighten my hold I take that as a no. Bringing up her hand, I mumble against her knuckles, “Me too.”

And I mean that, I really do.