The Chair the Remote and You: A Love Story

Linda Turner slid her hand between the the creases of the overstuffed recliner that her and her husband Tim often fought over.

Once upon a time, before all they did was argue, they’d both snuggle up in the chair and didn’t mind sharing it with one another.

With the recliner leaned all the way back, they’d watch one of their favorite shows, but before you knew it, something else would suddenly end up on the agenda.

It started off with hot and heavy kissing during the commercials, but eventually they’d end up making out for the remainder of the program.

Tim would skillfully pull the lever of the chair and return them to the upright position, all while removing Linda’s blouse, slipping off her pants, and steering them both to the bedroom.

For whatever reason, those days were long gone, and now, all that remained were the constant fights over any, and everything under the sun.

But no matter what the fights were about, each and every confrontation started off with a fight over the recliner.

She allowed her hand to squeeze deeper into the depths of the chair, feeling around for the remote control that always managed to lodge itself between the seat and the arm rest.

Linda tried to remember the last time that her and Tim had sat cuddled up together in the chair.

It was too long ago to recall.

She continued digging and felt a wad of paper, then touched something else, as she slid her hand back up.

It wasn’t the remote control.

It was Tim’s phone. This distracted her from the paper, which she sat down on the table without unfolding it, and proceeded to snoop through Tim’s phone.

Linda’s fingers trembled as she scrolled, each swipe revealing more of the past that should have remained buried.

Why hadn’t he deleted all of it? That was all her mind allowed her to think.

Old girlfriend pics, explicit texts — memories she wished she could unsee.

They served as triggers; the kind that were remnants of the worse time in her life.

Between the infidelity and the loss of the baby, there were several months of Linda’s life that she wanted to forget.

One glance at the phone, and it had all come back.

The anger swelled within her, a tempest brewing in her chest.

Rage surged through her, fueling actions she’d never fathomed before.

She began breaking items, and tearing things up, starting with her favorite photo of Tim, in the decorative frame she loved so much.

She tore through the house on a rampage; an uncontrollable force leaving chaos in her wake.

When Tim came home, his arrival only stoked the inferno, as his obvious shock over their wrecked home added fuel to the fire.

Without giving him a chance to speak, she hurled the phone at him, the image of his old flame frozen on the screen.

His silence spoke volumes, the shock painting his face with disbelief.

He wanted to kick himself all over for not deleting the texts when he had the chance.

The affair had already caused him enough headaches for a lifetime.

After the whole ordeal was over and Linda had finally forgave him, he couldn’t believe he had been too stupid to delete the texts.

He watched Linda flee the room, tears flowing freely, a torrent of emotions overwhelming her.

He knew he was technically wrong, yet his righteous indignation couldn’t let go of the fact that she’d already forgiven him for the real offense.

When he followed behind her, she slammed the bedroom door, causing his words to fall on deaf ears.

His angry reminders tried to cut through her persistent sobs, as he insisted she remember the past affair was over and had already been addressed.

But Linda wasn’t listening, now that the wound was reopened and the memories she couldn't erase were like a fresh betrayal.

He returned to the living room and took a seat in the chair, among the scattered debris.

That’s when he noticed the crumpled paper he had hastily balled up, the day he shoved it deep inside the cushion.

Unfolding it revealed the sonogram, a remnant of their shared grief over the miscarriage.

As he studied the barely distinguishable image on the crumpled paper, he wept quietly.

He never even heard Linda come creeping back into the room.

She approached him timidly and her own demeanor shifted, as she sensed something different from anger, from the way he sat slumped over.

Witnessing him cry over the crumpled paper that she now realized was the sonogram of their baby boy, her feelings of hostility quickly dissolved into empathy.

The weight of their loss hit Linda anew. With no words and a soft touch, she joined him in the chair.

Their tears mingled as they held each other, grieving for what could have been.

Their shared sorrow became a bridge, connecting them in a moment of vulnerability.

Kisses borne of longing and shared pain slowly built to an undeniable desire.

In the middle of their passion fueled by the warmth of the chair, Linda felt something against her back.

It was a familiar object, the remote control; the very thing they never seemed to stop fighting over.

Laughter bubbled up through their tears, and they experienced a fleeting moment of levity amidst the turmoil.

Pulling her up from the chair, Tim took the remote from her hand and tossed it aside.

He led her to the bedroom, and their connection transcended words. Instead, the intimacy they shared spoke volumes, rekindling a flame that had flickered in the dark.

And so, amidst the chaos and pain, their love found a way to bridge the chasm that had grown between them.

In the sanctity of their bedroom, they embraced the healing power of their shared love, seeking solace in each other’s arms.

Tomorrow, they could worry about dealing with the damage from the chaotic scene of the night before.

The possibility of resentment rearing it’s ugly head again was very real.

But for now, they had the rest of the night…

END