My mother tends to her garden below, a hand over her aching back as she sweeps the fallen leaves to a spot for burning. A mound of soil a few paces from her doesn’t go unnoticed, a vermin caught dead by our untrained dog. I observe it all, cooped up in my high-towered balcony with an even gaze. I do wonder if the people in this household think of caught vermin as unfortunate victims, or willing carcasses. My bedroom door creaks open as an almost drowned out set of footprints follows.
“I’ve been looking for you,” comes a low timbre voice. By the door stands my husband holding my child. They’re quite a sight together—promising eyes from a kind man, coddling my swaddled daughter in his arms. I returned my gaze below. The smoke from the garden bellows to frame my person. My mother waves to me, paired with the grin of a retired grandmother at 45. I feel my face mimic hers, the line of pretense and habit fused into one.
They’ll be fine, the three of them.
“Is she hungry?”
Ronald moved to stand beside me like the perfect man that he is. I’m sure many vie for him. Brown crystalline eyes framed by thick tufts of dark hair, stopping to reveal his forehead, then sliding down to a strong nose. It’s a shame, really–he’s merely a pawn for my family’s expectations. I graze the soft cheeks of my daughter with my manicured fingers. Ronald’s lips remain in a grim line. Our eyes meet in silent inquisition. Surely. He doesn’t know.
“The car’s ready for you.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“When will you be back?”
It doesn’t come as a surprise to others that I’ve remained as intact as I do today. A perfect woman with a perfect husband in a terribly perfect fucking mansion. I, on the other hand, am impressed with my willingness to have donned a wife’s burden for a pool of fools.
“Patricia.”
I blink out of my stupor, stretched my face for a red-lipped smile and kissed my husband on the mouth. This perfect masquerade will end today.
“Soon.”
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