Things had been dicey. Between her emotional havoc, the difficult season they were in as parents - financial disaster, and an over all life so busy they barely breathed. You never expect to get to this place, the chapter of marriage where you are so filled with selfish will, that you have no idea what the other person wore yesterday or if you even said more than five words to them.
It comes in slowly like the tide, you don’t realize it’s even there until suddenly the water is at your ankles and rising. Before long it’s at your waist, then your chest, and soon your neck. They were drowning, the two of them. In the same ocean, but miles apart.
She knew it, she saw and felt it. The days blurring with one another, her so overwhelmed with life, and children, and a job she didn’t love. Him tired from work, and long commutes, and nagging family members. They drifted. They barely touched. They talked about what needed to be talked about: kids, money, schedules.
They floated further away from one another, the ocean a great expanse between them. The waters rising.
This show they had been putting on, this revolving door, was shutting. As much as she pried her fingers, it was a struggle to keep it open. She watched him as he told stories, knowing what he was about to say and just how he would say it. She could count his breaths and knew his next move. After all, she'd been listening to him tell stories atop a good bit of fine whiskey for years. It was a song and dance she knew well.