Eight years earlier:

I stand in the kitchen, scrubbing pots.

I'm always scrubbing something, aren't I?

The sleeves of my sweater are rolled up past my elbows, but the cuffs are damp from the suds anyway. My red hair comes loose from its ponytail and falls down in front of my face in curly strands I shove back impatiently. The water is scalding, and I hiss in pain as I plunge my hands in once again.

"Hey Jen," I hear from behind me as a pair of arms snake around my waist.

"You wouldn't mind helping me at all, would you?" I say bitterly, leaning against him anyway.

He laughs softly in my ear, burying his face in my neck. "You're funny, Jen. C'mere."

He turns me around putting his hands on my waist and swaying back and forth gently, as if there were music playing somewhere. I smile, playing along and clasping my hands behind his neck.

"My mom wants us to come over on Saturday," Matt says.

Again?

I make a sound of affirmation, leaning my head on his shoulder to hide my distaste. We see the elder Mrs. Marshall almost every week. I can't stand sitting around her wine drinking friends and listening to them gossip about the neighbors. It's petty and disgusting. Matt doesn't get it though. He has a job, at least. I can't stand unemployment. I went to college too. I had an education that I earned, and a degree in advertising. But what am I doing now? Scrubbing pots in Virginian suburbia, with no income of my own.

"I've got to leave," I whisper.

Matt stops, pulling away to look at my face, concerned. "What?"

"I..." I start. "Nothing."

"No, what'd you say? Leave where?"

I turn my face away.

"C'mon, Jen. You know you can tell me anything."

Can I tell you I hate your childhood town?

I take a deep breath, deciding to tell him the truth.

"I need to leave, Matthew. I can't stay here. We have to go back to the City."

He looks at me, amused. "Honey, we can't go back to New York, that's crazy. It's not like we can just drive up and stay forever. I don't have a job there, we wouldn't have a livelihood. Besides, you know I don't like it there anymore."

I feel anger spark in my chest. "Well I hate it here! Isn't it my turn, Matt? We've lived here for three years and I've hated every single minute of it!"

"Jennifer, come on. You don't hate it here."

"Who are you to tell me what I hate and what I don't?"

He sighs in annoyance. "It's impossible, Jen. The cost of living is way too high, and, as I told you, I wouldn't have a job there!"

"Well I do!" I shout angrily, stepping away from him.

His face instantly goes dark. I feel a thrill of fear run up my spine, something I've never felt before in the presence of my husband.

"What did you say?"

I swallow nervously, drawing myself up. "I applied for a job in the city. And I got it."

He stays silent.

"It's a good job. Pretty high pay grade. A major company, too. I-"

"You filthy liar!" He exclaims. "You lied to me!"

"What?" I ask, taking another step back. He counters that, coming foreword and gripping my shoulders.

"I can't believe you! You did this without even asking me? What the hell were you thinking?!"

He shakes me, hard, and my neck snaps back painfully.

"Get your hands off of me!" I scream, shoving him back with all my strength. He let's go of me, but the anger is still there.

"I was thinking that I hate this place! I hate living here and I hate your parents!"

"You lied to me, Jen! I can't believe you!"

"Shut up, dammit!" I yell, my voice cracking. I feel the lump in my throat rise and tears begin to fill my eyes. I hate crying when I'm angry. It's so ridiculously unthreatening. "I want a job, Matt! I can't do this anymore, I can't waste away here with your parents and the childhood friends of yours who don't even like me! It's been three years and did you know that, in person,  I haven't had a single intelligent conversation with someone I could call 'friend' this whole time? Three years, Matthew! I'm tired! I'm so, so, tired of this!"

I break down in tears and clutch the edge of the counter, hating myself for sobbing now, of all times.

Finally I whisper under my breath. "You don't have to come wi-with me, Matthew, but I'm leaving. I have to leave. Whether you g-go with me or not, I'm moving back to the city. I'm sorry."

Matt stares at me silently, but breathing a word. His face has changed again. He looks torn.

"What are you going to do?" I ask, still a little fearful. How strange, that I should be frightened of my own husband.

His eyes narrow, and he takes a menacing step foreword, as if to come at me.

Quickly, I dart to the other side of the kitchen, staying close to the knifes on instinct. They were a Christmas present from his mother: a really nice set of sixteen. I loath her expensive gifts.

Matt stops, still facing the spot I stood a second ago. His fists are visibly clenched by his sides and he's breathing heavily. He won't look at me. I find this more frightening than before.

"Matt?" I ask. "Matt, say something!"

He turns towards me then, his eyes guarded. I stare back, not folding. The silence that could be cut with a knife which, coincidentally, I reach back a little farther for. The stillness seems to stretch on forever.

"I'm going out," Matthew growls, finally breaking eye contact. His fists relax and he whirls around, grabbing his coat from the back of the kitchen table and storming out the door. I refuse to move. Just a second later, I hear the sound of an engine starting and the grind of wheels on pavement. Headlights briefly illuminate the kitchen wall through the front windows before the car zooms past, on its way to who knows where. Maybe he's gone to cry to his mother. It would be fitting, given the fact that he never truly left her in the first place.

My heart aches, slightly, thinking about leaving Matt to go live in New York, alone. I don't want to leave him, just this place. I love him so much, but not enough to waste my life away here. But still, the dishes need to be done.

Taking a deep breath and wiping my eyes dry with the back of my hands, I go back to the sink, clearing my throat in distaste before plunging in once again.

I don't wash long before I hear three quick knocks at the door and a recognizable voice call, "hello? Matt? Jennifer?" Letting out a sigh of relief, I turn off the water and dry my hands on the kitchen towel, taming my loose hair into a better ponytail and heading towards the front door.

"Hello?" I hear as I swing it open to reveal the shivering man on the other side. "Ah, Jenny. I was wondering if you and Matt were alright? I heard raised voices and I just thought I'd stop by to make sure you were ok. I mean, break ins are pretty common this time of year; have you seen home alone? Anyway...."