𝑱𝒆𝒇𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒚 𝑺𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔

     I wake up to the beeps of the alarm clock and sit bolt upright. Lazily, I stretch my hand to the nightstand and silence it. I yawn, and then I run a hand through my bedhead, checking the time on the alarm clock. Exactly six.

     I shift my eyes to the other side of the bed. My heart skips a beat. Where’s my wife? I’m usually the first to wake up, make her breakfast while she’s in bed, and ensure she finishes the meal and takes her pills. She does the same for me when I’m sick or too tired to have breakfast downstairs.

     I vault over the bed and land on the ground, wondering when she’d woken up without me hearing anything. The whining of the lawn mower rings in my ears and I stop. Quickly, I cross over the bed to the window, and there she is, still in her nightgown, and trimming the grasses. A tender sigh escapes me.

     That gave me quite a startle. I don’t know why I get anxious easily when I don’t see my wife. Maybe it’s because of her condition. I’m afraid that if I let a second tick without checking up on her, she might...

     I can’t bring myself to say it. It’s not appropriate. Adrienne hasn’t given me a reason to doubt her, so I shouldn’t. It’s only normal for me to think that, or maybe I’m being overprotective. Truth is that I’m afraid of what she might do in my absence.

     That’s one of the reasons I hired the psychotherapist, along with many others. I’m planning on buying her a pet to keep her company when I’m away. I’m still indecisive about that. I know she has a thing for pets, but I don’t know how she’d react to the idea of me getting her a companion. I don’t want her to think that I’m being overprotective. I’ve already hired a therapist and paying him thousands of dollars to stay as long as she wants with her. A pet might seem like an overkill.

     Perhaps I’m doing this for my peace and not for her comfort, which I feel so bad about. I feel I owe her so much, and nothing I will do would compensate for it. And I’m overdoing it. Although I trust that she can take care of herself, I can’t stop the feeling of wanting to protect her from danger. I can’t think of any danger she might be in, but I still want to protect her. Maybe I’m the danger. Maybe, I’m the one she needs protection from.

     The thought gives me goosebumps and a chill runs down my spine. This only reminds me of the bad husband I’ve been to Adrienne. I shattered her dreams and happiness. Even if she miraculously recovers all her memories, she’s never going to be the Adrienne Styles she used to be again, and I’m the cause of what she is now. Worse, she thinks I’m the perfect husband.

     I feel like a sinner who needs redemption, and that redemption is only going to come from Adrienne’s forgiveness. The funny thing is that she can’t forgive me for something she has no idea about. I don’t know how to tell her. I can’t keep living like this. It’s more than living in hell.

     I slouch and trudge to the bathroom, undress and sprawl in the bathtub. I soak myself, freeing my mind from what’s been bothering me lately. I don’t want to think about my betrayal of Adrienne. Instead, I focus on brighter things, like the thought of becoming a father. A smile flashes across my face.

     I’ve never imagined it and right now that it’s a reality, I become euphoric whenever it crosses my mind. I’m going to be a father. I want to scream to the world so that everyone will hear it, but I can’t. I can’t proclaim my infidelity to the world. It’s something we keep in the dark. Sins are not meant to be disclosed.

     I keep longer in the bathtub than I initially thought I would. That’s when it comes to me. I’ve got a board meeting I can’t miss. As a named partner of my father’s construction company, I have to be present. I have to set good examples so that my Dad would be rest assured he’s leaving the family’s treasure in good hands.

     I hastily finish my bath, not enjoying it. Then I head out of the bathroom, towelling my wet hair. As I walk toward the closet, I don’t hear the whining. I suppose Adrienne is done trimming the lawn and making it look beautiful.

     Our home would have been a mess without her. Even when she had her memories and was constantly commuting, she still made the time to keep the place in order. I can’t say the same about me. Domestic work isn’t really my thing and as I’m always busy at the company, I hardly have time.

     But after the accident, I saw improvement in my attitude. When Adrienne was discharged from the hospital, she didn’t remember much. I had to take care of the house and her. I was surprised she was somehow able to remember her dead parents when she knew they’d been dead for years now.

     She kept asking for them, wanting to see her parents badly, thinking they were still alive. I called her elder sister Liana who is living in Washington, D.C. with her husband to talk her through. Luckily she was able to remember her sister. I’m glad she was present with Adrienne in those traumatic moments of her life. I wouldn’t have known what to do without her.

     When I see how dedicated my wife is to what she does, I wonder why she doesn’t want us to have kids. The house gets very lonely sometimes, and when I see Tim and Anna taking their girl for a walk, I yearn to be in their shoes. To get to hold my child’s hand and play with him in the park. We’ve been married for five years now and from the looks of things, having a baby with Adrienne is nothing more than a beautiful dream.

     I near the closet and take out a black suit with a red tie and my underwear. I retrace my steps to the bed and place them carefully across it. I walk to the vanity and pick up a body lotion, which I uncap and start smearing the pomade on my skin. I waste no time in doing that, then I pace to the bed, put on my underwear and follow it with the suit.

     Looking into the mirror, I groom my face and apply cologne, walking out of the room when I’m done. In the kitchen, I make tea and microwave the blueberry muffins I took from the refrigerator. I would have fixed breakfast for Adrienne too if time weren’t running out. My phone chimes. I look at the screen.

     Where are you? Meeting is about to start.

     I could sense his frustration when he was typing the message. Poor man! He’s counting on me, and my absence is already making him think I’m bailing out on him. I sip from the mug with my right hand while my left hand dexterously type the words.

     Sorry, Dad. I’ll be there in a jiffy.

     The message marks as sent, and I focus on finishing my meal. I stop halfway, stand up, and grab a bottle of water. Sighing softly, I rush out of the kitchen and head to the garden.