Living without you is hell for me. I know that, is it my fault we are not together now? I don't think so.
You left me on the 08/08/08 I remember it well, I will never forget the date, how could I? Your fortieth birthday, the day you had told me on the first day we met. One of your little quirks was always telling everyone you would be forty on the 08/08/08, you did it all the time, even to those that already knew. Yes you left me then, you stayed in the same house, the same bed, but only now do I realise that was when you were gone.
Before then, up till the seventh, everybody that knew us as a couple were jealous of what we had. We had permanent smiles whenever we were together, people remarked how our eyes lit up whenever the other walked into the room, many attested to hearing us making love, yes I remember that, how could I forget that passion, often twice a day even after twenty five years together. Yes often twice a day until that birthday.
It was a Friday remember. As always, on your birthday I would take the day off, especially if I was working lates or nights, if I was on earlies I would take the day after off. I would have the house ready, with your gifts waiting for you when you got home, a meal prepared and I would treat you like a queen, often starting with a long lovemaking session as soon as you were home and always ending with one.
I remember how worried I was when you were late home, the first time I tried to ring and you phone rang then went to voicemail, I thought you were driving, unable to answer. Half hour later when I tried to call you again, your phone just went straight to voicemail.
Dinner was ruined by the time you were two hours late, I was frantic, I called your parents, your sister, the police and all the local hospitals, all our friends. No one knew where you were, or could be.
It was just before ten when you pulled up outside, I was so relieved, I hurriedly sent a text to all those that I had worried telling them you were home. You were singing as you opened the door, do you remember?
Yes you were singing, until you smelled the ruined dinner, turned and saw me rushing to you with tears streaming.
Can you remember what you said to me? Can you?
Any other birthday you would have apologised, you would have been repentant, you would have been sorry and loving. Then again every other birthday you were home on time. It was our tradition.
But what did you say to me?
"Why are you home already?" as though you had no idea, and the look on your face should have told me everything. It didn't, I trusted you.
I was hurt when you told me you had already eaten, that you had dinner with some colleagues. You did say colleagues, not colleague. You then went and showered, alone, refusing my company. I heard you singing again, you had a long shower, even then I thought nothing of it as I waited patiently for you to come back down, and I thought we could start to celebrate your birthday.
I heard you finish you shower, I heard you go to our bedroom, I heard the creaking of our bed, I assumed you were putting on some sexy clothes, when you were a long time coming I thought I would find you ready to play. Imagine my surprise when I got upstairs and saw you, yes you have to imagine my surprise. You didn't see it, you were asleep.
I say surprise, actually it was anger I felt. Was I right to be angry, tell me I had spent two hours shopping for the best ingredients for your special meal and another six hours preparing it. At seven o'clock it was perfectly cooked and ready to serve of course even though I tried to save it come nine o'clock it was dried out, not fit to eat.
I have watched you sleep many many nights since we first got together, you had always looked happy, secure and satisfied, a glow on your cheeks accentuating your beautifully red lips, that night was no different.
I left you to sleep, I cleaned up the kitchen, threw out the dinner and washed up. I fell asleep watching some dodgy horror flick on the telly with a bottle of whiskey for company.
Yes I was hungover when you came down in the morning, yes you were polite when you opened you presents, if you can call a sisterly hug and a peck on the cheek polite. You still offered no excuse, justification or apology for either making me worry half to death or causing me pain, in fact you were if anything hostile. When I asked why you got angry, do you remember throwing that crystal statuette I had made for you. Eight hundred quid smashed because I asked why you were behaving that way.