Taken for Granted — A Confession He’ll Never Forget
She knew he would come home late — he always did. Some nights he blamed work, other nights he blamed the world. But tonight, she decided, she wouldn’t wait in silence. The soft light of the bedroom spilled across her bare shoulders as she sat on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but the perfume he once said drove him mad. She heard his keys fumble in the lock — the tiny sound that always brought hope and disappointment all at once. When he stepped in, she didn’t greet him with words. She just looked at him — eyes half-lidded, thighs crossed, one finger tracing lazy circles on her neck as if to remind him of everything he used to crave. He dropped his bag — stammered something about a long day — but she wasn’t here for his excuses. She stood, walked up to him slowly, pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, “You think I’ll always be here. You think I’ll wait.” Her hands found his shirt buttons, but her eyes told him this wasn’t forgiveness — this was a warning. He wanted to speak, ...