The Package

She sat at the kitchen table, eyes glossed over as she stared out the window. A small bluebird bounced around the deck outside, but she paid it no mind. Her thoughts were far in the past, ruminating over every moment of her relationship with her husband. The beginning had been so rich and vibrant, every moment a thrill, just as her mother had told her it should be. She remembered the first time he’d touched her hand and their first kiss, the humorous engagement and the disastrous wedding. What a story they’d woven together! Despite the multiple mishaps on that March 18th, the look on his face when he’d first seen her in her wedding dress would forever stay in her mind. To her, it was the purest and loveliest moment of their relationship.

Absentmindedly, she picked up a pen and clicked it as her mind continued to wander. She recalled their sensual honeymoon with fervor, but the years that had come after were more piercing. About a year ago, she’d realized what was happening. The isolation of husband and wife had already been well underway, and she felt estranged and lonely. And yet, to all others, they appeared happy and in love.

The doorbell rang, and she jumped. Dropping the pen on the table, she weaved through the house, past the granite countertops, the leather couch, and the oversized television, and came to the arched glass door. To her delight, there was nobody to welcome; there was merely a package on the doorstep as a man in a brown uniform trudged his way back to a large truck parked in the driveway. Waiting until he’d driven off, she opened the door and peered down at it.

It was a simple package, wrapped in brown paper, with nothing but a single shipping label on the top. Searching her memory, she tried to recall whether she’d ordered anything recently. Nothing came to her mind, and she bent down to retrieve the package before searching for clues on the shipping label.

To her surprise, the label was handwritten and addressed to her husband.

She froze, the door open as a breeze swept through the house. She stared at the handwriting, eyes fixed intently on those curves and sweeps, prying for any familiarity or femininity. Then hefting the package, she found that it was fairly light, matching its small size, and frowned as she closed the door and set the package on the coffee table. Plopping down on the couch, she stared intently at it.

Part of her wanted to open it outright, but she knew that it would be wrong; it wasn’t addressed to her. A memory resurfaced, showing her raising her voice when he’d opened one of her packages without asking, and she was sure that he’d remember should she violate his privacy in the same way.

What could it be? she thought. A million possibilities flitted through her mind, but she couldn’t settle on any of them. Perhaps an engraved watch? Some kind of sex toy? A decorative rock? Maybe there was even a letter with it, or a card, and her brow furrowed as she considered what it might say.

She knew that she must seem crazy, sitting there staring at a box. And perhaps she was. She’d seen plenty of movies about women whose paranoia had sent them down dark and terrible roads, and most people would probably consider her to be at the edge of one. But she couldn’t get past that deep-set feeling in her stomach. Somehow, she knew that it was true, even though everything in her wanted it to be false: her husband was cheating on her.

The thought made her sick, and she closed her eyes and looked down. She didn’t know the woman’s name or who she was, but she knew that one was involved. Maybe it was that pretty blonde lady who worked in his office. She’d always been gorgeous and thin, that classic figure that men seem to like so much. Her eyes opened and focused on her belly, rolled and pudgy as she bent forward slightly on the couch. As she reached her hand to it, she felt a loathing come over her, and she shut her eyes tight once more and put her head in her hands.

She knew the kind of women he was interested in, and it wasn’t her. Every night before he came to bed, he’d go off to the office for an hour or so, and as soon as he’d return, he’d toss his socks into the hamper before she could notice anything strange about them. Once, she even caught him in the act, those so-called women on the screen of their computer, and he’d apologized so profusely. Ever since, he’d tried to be more secretive, but she knew what was going on. She wasn’t enough for him anymore, and he’d turned elsewhere.

But he’d been keeping up the guise for the past year or so, and on a rare occasion would even go so far as to have sex with her. But she knew better. Something was missing every time, and most of the time he would only service himself. It was nothing like that week of their honeymoon, when their passions had run so high.

And now, it seemed that even images weren’t enough for him.

She shook her head and stood, staring in disdain at the package before turning and stomping into the kitchen. Grabbing a wine bottle from the cabinet, she studied the label, making sure it was the expensive one she’d gotten him for his birthday last month, and broke the seal. After pouring herself a glass, she sat down on the couch once more with a huff before taking a large gulp of the deep red liquid. Immediately regretting such a large drink, she cringed as it burned at her throat. And then she took another drink.

Why would he have done this to her? After all she’d done for him, it hardly seemed fair. While he worked long hours, she’d stayed home and taken care of the house. Looking around, she chuckled at how spotless and tidy it was, all because of her. And yet, he’d never truly appreciated it. Every weekday for the past three years, he had come home and relaxed, not having to worry about a single thing because she’d already taken care of all of it. He always had clean clothes to wear to work, they were always ready and pressed on important meeting days, and dinner was always ready by six thirty.

She scoffed and took another drink. He’d never shown appreciation. But she knew he’d blame this all on her. He’d say she stopped loving him, or that she wasn’t good enough in the bedroom, or he’d focus on every tiny thing she’d ever done wrong instead of the thousands of things she’d done right. She could admit that she’d been less than giving in the bedroom over the past year or two, but that was because she’d been so tired from all her daily housework and disdainful of his “work” in the home office. He had no idea how much effort it took to keep their oversized house clean every single day, or how ugly she felt because of his evening entertainment choices. And he hadn’t made much of an effort to romance her, either. When was the last time he’d taken her out on a date?

Despite the rhetorical nature of the question she’d asked herself, she still thought back to try to find the answer. After a moment, she found the memory, lurking in the third year of their marriage, when he’d tried to take her to the circus. He’d forgotten her utter distaste for circuses. But she was sure to remind him before the date was over.

Perhaps she’d been too hard on him…

She shook her head and downed the rest of the glass. It didn’t matter how difficult she’d been; it was his duty to love and cherish her “’til death did them part.” And here he was, sleeping around with some lady just because she was prettier and probably did all the disgusting things he’d tried to force his own wife into for years.

She couldn’t stand it.

Suddenly a wave of nausea washed over her, and she set down the empty glass. Her frustration and anger was shifting over to a horrible terror and dread. If this was indeed the path he’d sent them down, she wasn’t ready to walk it. Despite all their differences and quarrels in the past, this was not what she wanted.

She lay down on the couch, holding her disgruntled belly as she stared at the ceiling with an empty expression.

A realization came over her: he would try to hide it as long as possible. That meant that he would perpetuate this nauseating feeling for at least a month or two. Blinking, tears began to well in her eyes at the thought. He would put her through such torment just to sate his own conscience! Rolling over, she stopped holding back and began to weep, her tears slipping down the side of her face to fall onto the smooth leather couch, and she realized that she had to confront him about it. There was no other way.

She started as she heard a familiar car pull in the driveway, and she vaulted to her feet. Glancing back and forth between the door and the package, she sniffed and wiped her face, then moved to peek through a window to confirm that it was indeed her husband. That familiar dark hair and navy suit lifted out of the car and turned toward the front door, and she felt as though her heart had stopped beating. For a swift moment, she considered feigning some kind of illness and hiding in the bedroom, but quickly beat the idea aside.

Her heart pounded ever louder as he got closer with every footstep, approaching the door. Then the handle turned and the door swung open.