My Husband Forgot Our Home, But Ran to Fix Hers

1: 1

I came home late from working overtime, and the broken lock on our door still hadn't been fixed.

I called Desmond Henson's name through the door for ages before he finally came out, annoyed.

Don't you have a key? Why don't you just open it yourself?

I froze. The door won't open. I told you this morning to get someone to fix it.

He blinked, then said, flat and indifferent, "Forgot. I'll definitely call someone tomorrow."

Of course. That same couldn't-care-less attitude.

The laundry sitting in the washing machine, he'd forgotten to hang. When I asked, he said, "I never said I wouldn't. I'll go do it in a minute."

The kitchen scraps had gone rancid overnight, and I reminded him to take them down when he went out. He forgot again anyway. "I'll just make another trip later. No rush."

Every single time, he brushed it off like it was nothing.

I changed out of my shoes and stepped inside. "You couldn't hear me knocking all that time?"

He kept scrolling through his phone, not lifting his head. "Fifi and I were on a video call."

"She was in the middle of a shower and her water heater broke, so I was walking her through the repair."

I glanced down. He was still looking up a water heater maintenance tutorial.

So while I was locked outside, he'd been on video with his childhood friend, dripping wet and wrapped in a bath towel.

All these years of marriage, one call from Felicity Swanson, water out, gas out, power out, and he'd always rush over at once.

Seeing me not move, he set the phone down and pressed a hand to my shoulder to smooth things over. "All right, all right, I'll call someone to fix the lock right now, okay?"

Fixed or not, it didn't matter anymore, because the door I'd kept open for him in my heart, I was about to lock.

I went into the bathroom to shower and found this morning's laundry still sitting in the machine.

I'd had a meeting that morning and left early, and I'd made a point of telling Desmond to hang the clothes before he went out.

I turned to leave the bathroom, meaning to ask him about it, when his phone rang first.

A video request popped up, and Desmond hit answer on reflex.

On the screen, Felicity was wrapped in a towel, wet hair still dripping. "Des, my keypad lock's dead, I can't get in, it's so dark out here, I'm scared someone bad's around..."

Murmuring soothing words, he was already grabbing his keys from the entryway, heading out with his jacket only half on.

"I'll come charge it for you right now. Send me the lock model."

The door clicked shut behind him. Clean and quick.

He hadn't even taken a second to tell me.

Towel in hand, I stood in the bathroom doorway and slowly looked around this home I'd put so much care into.

Suddenly it all felt absurd.

All this time, I'd just been too foolish, too earnest.

My phone buzzed. A message from my boss.

"Winnie, the fellowship slot has to be submitted in the next couple of days. You're sure you want to give it up? These chances are rare. Think it over again."

I stared at that line for a long time.

Before, I'd never wanted to live apart from Desmond.

Now, thinking about it, he probably wouldn't care either way.

I wrote back to my boss, "Okay. I'll go."

Once I'd sent it, I turned and walked into the bathroom.

I hung the laundry first, then showered, dried my hair, turned off the light, and got into bed.

Desmond didn't come back until the middle of the night.

He pushed the door open, climbed into bed, and leaned in close, murmuring, "Did I wake you?"

I didn't move.

He tried again. "Did you hang the laundry? I told you I'd do it. You always rush."

Once, I would have rolled over and sat up and demanded why, when I'd reminded him again and again, he still forgot.

The clothes had sat shut in the machine all day, nearly rotting!

But I'd said all of that plenty of times. I didn't want to say it anymore.

When I didn't answer, he went on by himself. "Fifi didn't know how to charge the electronic lock. If the keypad died and someone got in, a girl living on her own like that, of course I had to go over."

I opened my eyes. "Does she not have hands? Can't read a manual? Can't call customer service?"

The moment it was out, Desmond paused. "Do you really have to be this nasty?"

"Fifi lost her parents when she was little. Is it so strange that I look out for her a bit more? What's with the snide tone?"

I rolled over, turning my back to him.

Behind me it went quiet for a few seconds, then came the sound of him getting up and going into the bathroom.

He showered and came back to bed.

He pressed against me, his arm winding around my waist. "All right, all right, don't be mad, I'll be more careful from now on, okay? Hm?"

He coaxed me, his temper softening a little, his lips moving toward my ear, and in the warm breath there was that perfume Felicity always wore.

A wave of nausea rose in my stomach.

I pulled his arm off me and rushed into the bathroom, retching over the sink.

Desmond didn't follow. I heard him grumble from the bed, "Winifred Whitney, don't take this too far!"

I braced myself against the sink and stood, rinsed my mouth, and came back to the bed.

Desmond had already rolled over, his breathing even, asleep.

I stood at the foot of the bed and looked at him for a while, then picked up my phone and messaged my boss one more time.

"I'm sure about the slot. Please start the process for me."

2: 2

The concert Desmond had grabbed tickets for was that weekend.

I got off work and waited outside my building for forty minutes, and still he didn't come to pick me up.

When I finally called, he seemed to remember only then. "Winnie, sorry, something came up on my end. Go on ahead, I'll be a little late."

So I took an Uber there alone.

By the time the chorus of the third song hit, Desmond finally came ducking in through the side aisle.

I was about to hand him a glow stick when I caught, at the edge of my vision, someone trailing behind him.

Felicity was wearing a dress in the same color family as mine, and she smiled sweetly at me. "Hey, I love this group too. I mentioned it to Des once, and I didn't think he'd actually buy me a ticket. And it turned out to be right next to you two. What a coincidence."

Desmond wiped her seat clean with a tissue as if it were the most natural thing, then reached over and took the canvas bag off her shoulder and set it down by her feet. "You can sit now. All wiped down for you."

Only after that did he turn to look at me. "Fifi's zipper broke right as she was heading out. I tried for ages and couldn't get it, so we got held up a bit."

I turned my head and looked at Felicity's waist.

Her dress was cut open at the waist, and against her fair skin the fingerprints stood out clearly.

For those three hours, Desmond held up his phone recording the solos of the member Felicity liked.

Every so often she leaned in to watch the playback, her head nearly resting on his shoulder.

When it ended she said she was thirsty, so Desmond squeezed past half a row of people to go buy her water.

I sat there beside them, the glow stick sweating in my fist.

Not until the last encore finished and the lights came up did I realize I hadn't taken in a single song.

When we walked out of the arena, the sky suddenly opened into a downpour.

The exit was packed with people sheltering from the rain and calling for cars.

Desmond ran for the cover of the eaves, shielding the top of Felicity's head, and turned back to shout at me: "Winnie, Fifi's been weak since she was little and can't be out in the cold wind. I'll take her home first. Grab yourself a car."

I stood on the steps and watched him circle an arm around her shoulders, tucking her completely under him.

With that whole crowd letting out, it took me about thirty minutes to get a car.

By the time I got home, my hem and my hair were still dripping.

I'd caught a chill after all, and by the middle of the night a fever set in.

I dragged myself up and took some fever medicine. The heat dropped, then climbed again, over and over, until I couldn't hold out and went to the hospital the next day anyway.

After the tests, the doctor looked up from the report and glanced at me. "Congratulations. You're pregnant."

"The fever's serious, so you can't just take any medication now."

My heart lurched. Pregnant?

3: 3

When I got home, Desmond was leaning against the entryway, putting on his shoes.

He saw me push the door open, and his brow furrowed. "Where did you go? We agreed we'd have dinner at my mom's tonight. You didn't even pick up your phone. I've been waiting forever."

I changed into my slippers and said nothing.

He pressed again. "I'll go down and bring the car around. Hurry up."

Then he grabbed the car keys and left.

I stood in the entryway for a few seconds, put on a jacket, and went out after him anyway.

The moment I pulled open the car door, a cloying, sugary snack smell hit me in the face.

Half a bag of crushed potato chips lay scattered across the passenger seat, along with a few torn candy wrappers, and wedged into the crease of the seat was a sour candy pit that had fallen in at some point.

This was the third time this week.

I'd reminded him plenty of times before that the passenger seat wasn't Felicity's snack tray, and that she needed to clear away whatever she finished.

I stood outside the door and didn't move. "How many times have I told you? Take the trash out of the car and throw it away when you get out."

Desmond was starting the engine. He glanced over and swept the crumbs down under the seat with one hand, careless about it. "Fine, fine, I'll deal with it right now, okay? Just get in. Don't keep Mom waiting."

I looked at him, then bent down and got into the back seat.

When we reached his mother's, the security door was half open, and Felicity and Mrs. Abbott's laughter drifted out from inside.

She saw me come in and smiled sweetly. "You're here! Auntie asked me to come help. She said we'd have a full house tonight."

Mrs. Abbott sat at the table and waved me over. "Now that you're here, go set out the bowls and chopsticks. Fifi's been busy all afternoon. Let her rest."

"Oh, and there are a few cups in the kitchen sink that still need washing. Wash those first, then come eat."

I stepped past them into the kitchen.

The bowls and plates were stacked in the sink. I washed them one by one, dried them, put them away in the sterilizer, then took the porcelain plates from the cupboard and set them on the table. By the time all the dishes were out and the bowls and chopsticks were laid, and I came out carrying the last soup bowl, the table was already full.

Felicity sat beside Mrs. Abbott, who was placing barbecue ribs into her bowl. "Fifi, you're too thin. You really should eat more."

Desmond sat on Felicity's other side and, without a thought, moved the plate of salt-and-pepper shrimp she couldn't reach right in front of her.

Then he casually picked the ginger slivers out of her bowl and put them on his own plate.

The three of them talked and laughed, Mrs. Abbott patting the back of Felicity's hand as she told stories about her childhood.

Desmond listened with his head bowed, a doting smile at the corner of his mouth.

My place had been at the corner of the table the whole time, the chair pulled a little away from the edge.

The bowl and chopsticks were set out at the very edge, like a seat added in at the last minute.

I reached up, untied the apron, folded it, and left it on the kitchen counter, then turned and went out the door.

They probably wouldn't even notice that I'd suddenly left.

I took an Uber to the hospital.

After checking in, I went into the exam room. "Doctor, I need you to schedule me for the procedure. I want to end the pregnancy."

4: 4

When I woke again, a nurse was patting my shoulder, telling me the procedure was over and I could leave after half an hour of observation.

A dull, swollen ache kept rising in my lower belly, still throbbing faintly.

I lay there for a while, then slowly sat up and got dressed. I picked up the anti-inflammatory and the medication to stop the bleeding at the pharmacy, and took an Uber home alone.

Once I got home, I went straight to the bedroom to sleep.

By the time it was fully dark, the bedroom door was pushed open.

Desmond stood in the doorway, still in his dress shoes, coat draped over his arm. He glanced at me, impatience he'd clearly been holding the whole way home in his voice. "Winifred, what's the matter with you? You left without even eating?"

"I called you all those times and you didn't pick up once, then came home to sleep the day away by yourself?"

"Do you know how angry Mom is? Go apologize to her tomorrow. Don't be so childish."

I stayed curled up under the blanket, not moving.

My belly hurt, and I didn't have much strength left to argue with him.

He stood there a moment, and when I didn't answer, his footsteps came closer. The mattress dipped hard under his weight. "Winifred! Don't lie there pretending to be asleep!"

Then he suddenly grabbed my arm and hauled me up out of the blanket. "What is it you're throwing a fit about? I'm talking to you. Do you hear me?"

The pull wrenched my body, and in that instant it felt like something tore open low in my belly, a sharp pain shooting up from below.

My hand went to my stomach on instinct, cold sweat breaking out all over me.

My voice came out thin. "Desmond, why aren't you off keeping your childhood sweetheart company? What are you doing here losing your temper at me?"

The jab stung him, but his grip didn't loosen. He leaned in closer. "Winifred, I just want to ask you what you actually mean by all this! You've had that face on since the concert, and today you walked out of Mom's without a word of explanation. What do you take me for?"

"I've told you countless times, Fifi and I are not the kind of relationship you keep imagining!"

"If we really were, I've known her so long, do you think it would ever have been your turn?"

A wave of cold revulsion went through me, my heart sinking almost to despair.

It was like a knife turning in my belly, the pain draining the strength out of me.

I struggled to pull my arm free of his hand, and in that very moment a warm rush came from below, running down the inside of my thigh, unstoppable.

My pajama pants and the sheet were soaked through in seconds, and the pain low in my belly was so bad it nearly choked off my breath.

I think I was hemorrhaging.

"Desmond..." My voice was frantic. "Call an ambu"

But right then his phone rang.

That special ringtone pulled his attention away in an instant.

His voice went gentle at once. "Fifi, what's wrong? Don't cry... take your time..."

Felicity's thin sobbing came through the phone.

"Okay, okay, don't hang up, I'll be right there."

Phone in hand, he turned and headed out of the bedroom, his steps quick and urgent.

I collapsed back onto the bed and heard the security door in the living room slam shut.

The blood kept coming, soaking warm through layer after layer of fabric. I reached for the phone on the nightstand, my fingers sticky, and with shaking hands dialed 911.

When I woke again I was in a hospital room, and the ache in my belly was gone.

When the nurse came in to change the dressing, she told me the bleeding had been heavy, that I'd come close to needing a transfusion. "Good thing you were brought in when you were."

I stayed in the hospital for a day.

It wasn't until the next day that Desmond finally called me.

"Did you work overtime last night?"

"I got off early today and came home and cooked. I steamed the fish you like, and I got someone to fix the door. What time will you be back?"

"Don't worry, I hung up the laundry too. I said I'd remember."

"When are you coming home? I'll wait to eat with you."

I answered softly. "I'm not coming back."

He laughed. "Still angry?"

"Don't be angry. Fifi's light bulb went out last night, and she was scared on her own, so I just went over to change a bulb, that's all."

"It's such a small thing. Do you really have to keep holding on to it?"

If it had truly been something life-or-death for her that night, maybe I could have understood a little.

But when it came down to it, it was nothing more than a burned-out light bulb.

So it turned out one light bulb mattered more than my life.

I didn't say anything more to him and hung up.

Then, after checking out of the hospital, I went straight to the airport.

From now on, I wouldn't be reminding him to hang up the laundry, fix the door, or take out the trash.

None of it had anything to do with me anymore.