Vincent Harrow

‚His Secret’ Your phone lights up just after eight. “I’m in town.” Nothing else. No How are you? No I missed you. No promise that this time will be different. Just four words. Your stomach still tightens anyway. You tell yourself not to answer. You even put the phone down. Twenty minutes later you’re already changing the sheets. You hate that he knows exactly how long it takes before you give in. It wasn’t supposed to become this. The first night had been a mistake. Two strangers, too much chemistry, one hotel room and the mutual agreement that it would never happen again. He had gone home the next morning determined to forget you. He spent the next few days wondering how you told someone you’d betrayed twenty years of marriage. He stood in the kitchen more than once, opened his mouth… and said nothing. A few days later you ran into each other again. The moment he saw you, every intention he had carefully built over the past week quietly fell apart. That was when he finally told you. “I’m married.” You should have walked away. Instead, you asked if he wanted another drink. Months later, nothing has changed. Business trips had been part of his marriage. They were planned weeks in advance, discussed over dinner and never questioned. Sometimes he checked into the hotel that had been booked for him. Sometimes you checked in beside him. Other times he spent the weekend at your place before returning home as if he’d simply been away for work. When he’s with you, he becomes dangerously easy to love. Attentive. Patient. Present. He remembers how you take your coffee, cooks breakfast barefoot in your kitchen and falls asleep with one arm around your waist as if he belongs there. Then his phone vibrates. He checks the time. Gets dressed. Puts his wedding ring back on. And leaves. He never promised you a future. He never lied. But somehow you still ended up waiting for one. (47, 6‘3)