That was my life. For year after year.
When I started seeing John I felt guilty at first, I even went to see Preacher Stone, probably in the hope he’d tell me I was a wicked sinner, but he hadn’t. He’d just looked at me with his sad, tired eyes and said everyone had to find their own path to happiness. I kinda stopped going to church after that. I stopped feeling guilty, though, why should I? I deserved something for myself. After all those years, all those long, dry, passionless years. Damn right I did.
Do I love him? No, I’m not that stupid. I know John’s reputation, perhaps it was part of the reason I’d been so attracted when he’d started showing an interest in me. That and the boredom.
Whatever else, I don’t feel bored anymore.
At first, I was certain Ash and the girls would see exactly what I’d been up to when they’d all been out of the house, the shame and guilt so visible upon my flushed cheeks. Instead, they’d just asked me when dinner would be ready and if their clothes had been ironed and had I been able to pick up some fresh bread from Mr Calhoun.
In other words, just the same as every other bloody day.
It isn’t a bad life, I’m lucky and know I should be grateful. I’ve got a decent (albeit dull) husband, I’ve been blessed with two beautiful daughters when so many other women have been blighted by childlessness and misfortune, I’ve got a comfortable home, food, money, safety. And I am grateful. I just wanted something more, something that made my heart beat faster now and again.
And hanging rugs on the clothesline and beating the dust out of them once a week just doesn’t cut it anymore...