She Won’t Be Ignored Any Longer by uk_writer_53

I stared vacantly at the plate of cold food sitting across the table from me and sighed unhappily. It was another lonely evening of sitting by myself waiting for my husband to come home with even more excuses about having to work late.

He had barely been away from his office over the Christmas and New Year holiday and even when he had been at home, he had been busy at his desk most of the time. I knew he was working on a major project but this would be the ninth time this month he had missed dinner and we weren’t even half way through it yet.

It was going to be another long and lonely month just like January, I thought to myself, as I morosely took another mouthful of the excellent white wine I had bought especially for the night.

I had just blown out the two candles on the table when my mobile phone rang. Snatching it up I checked the display to see that it was Stephen, my husband of four years.

“Hello.” I elected to take the call rather than simply ignore him.

“Hi Jessica, I’m really sorry but Carl and I are still working on that merger. He’s suggested we head off to the Red Lion and get something to eat so we can continue our discussions.”

I took a deep breath, I could already feel the tears already pricking the corners of my eyes “So, when should I expect you home?”

“Don’t wait up for me. It’ll be late. We’ve hit another snag in the negotiations”

“Just when is late? I’d prepared a romantic dinner for us tonight.”

“Probably after midnight and I’m sorry about dinner but this merger needs all of our attention right now. If it comes off, we’ll be set for life.”

“I’ll look forward to that.” I answered more than a little sarcastically, wondering if the rest of his life included me.

“I have to go. Love you baby.”

“Fine.” I hung up abruptly.

A single tear ran down my cheek and I wiped it away, blinking back the others that threatened to follow. This wasn’t how I had expected my marriage to be and it certainly wasn’t how the first three years had been.

Picking up my wine glass I swirled the pale liquid around before swallowing it all and let my mind wander back through my recent past, recalling how I had first encountered the man of my dreams.

I had met Stephen Morton at a wedding of all places. Going alone as a friend of the bride while he had been one of the groomsmen. From the moment I first saw him I could hardly take my eyes off him and went out of my way to speak to him.

We had hit it off immediately, he had been three years older than me at twenty-seven. Six feet tall with messy brown hair, that always seemed to need a trim, his penetrating hazel-eyes had captivated me. He had charmed to me from the first moment I was introduced to him and I was ecstatic when he asked me to have dinner with him.

However, my own deep-set insecurities had prevented me from even considering a long-term relationship with him, at least to start with. I had always thought I was too skinny and plain for anyone to want to date me seriously. That lack of confidence had discouraged me from seeing any of the few previous men I had briefly been out with as a long-term partner.

Not that Stephen had perceived me like that.

He told me his impression was of a fairly tall, 5′ 8″, attractive girl with long dark brown hair that fell way past her slim shoulders. Her slender small-breasted 34B-24-34 figure had filled the dress she was wearing just sufficiently to tease rather than flaunt and she had enchanted him from the very beginning.

Although I wasn’t experienced sexually, only having had unsatisfying sex with two of my previous boyfriends, I had, nervously, slept with him on our third date. Suddenly I found out what all the fuss was about when he made me orgasm repeatedly leaving me exhausted but fulfilled for the first time ever.

We had dated for six months before Stephen proposed and I had said yes without a moment’s hesitation.

Initially marriage had been even better than I could have imagined. We were head-over-heels in love and happily spent as much of our time together as we could. Sex had been wonderful and we had fucked every day, almost without fail, for the first couple of years.

Understandably the frequency of our love making had diminished by the third year, in part this was due to the general demands of life but mostly it was because of Stephen’s new job. We still had sex at least three or four times a week but sometimes the intensity and the passion were noticeably lacking.

Then, just a few months ago, he had been promoted and become involved, with his boss Carl, in a huge project to merge with another company. It had meant long hours and numerous business trips, some for several days at a time, and the effect on our marriage had been almost catastrophic.

I had not made love with my husband for nearly three months now because he either wasn’t around or was simply too tired. Socialising had also become a thing of the past as Stephen was always working and, apart from the occasional meeting with friends, I hadn’t enjoyed a night out in a long time.

I sighed wearily again and poured myself another glass of wine holding up the half empty bottle and considering whether to finish it or not. Taking a mouthful, l looked across the table at the dinner I had spent so long preparing as a surprise for my husband and wondered why I had bothered.

Standing up I took the meal I had lovingly cooked and calmy scraped the cold, congealed food into the bin before disposing of the plates and cutlery in the dishwasher.

With the meal things cleared away I picked up my glass and took the bottle into the lounge to sit down. Just to banish the oppressive silence I turned on the television although I didn’t really watch what was on. Instead, I continued to contemplate the things going wrong in my life as I gazed unseeingly at the screen, a steady stream of tears trickling down my cheeks.

For the next hour I stared blankly at nothing in particular as I finished my glass before pouring myself another.

Was it work or had my husband lost interest in me already? I had always appreciated everything he had done for me and, as far as I knew, been a faithful and loving wife so what was wrong?

Taking my time, I eventually finished the whole bottle, kicking it over as, partly inebriated, I stumbled off to bed and hopefully to sleep, miserable and alone.

I must have dozed off because I didn’t hear what time my husband came home. It was only apparent he had been in bed with me by the rumpled bedclothes and pillows next to me. In fact, it wasn’t until early the following morning when I heard the front door closing as Stephen left for work, that I realised he had even come home at all.

Cautiously climbing out of bed I felt more than a little nauseous from the hangover, caused by my drinking excesses of the previous evening, I immediately made a beeline for the bathroom to take two aspirin and have a shower.

It wasn’t until I returned wrapped in a towel that I saw the handwritten note that had been placed on the bedside cabinet.