Expired Love

He once swore I’d be the only woman he would ever touch.

He said he'd be my eyes for the rest of our lives.

Now, here I was, with my vision returned, and he was in bed with another woman.

Maybe he didn’t love me anymore.

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from sobbing. However, the tears wouldn’t listen. They poured down my face, soaking into the pillow.

“Sam, let’s get a divorce.” I choked out, the words slipping out of me before I could stop them.

The room, filled with moaning and heavy breathing, went dead silent. Both of them turned to stare at me, eyes wide in shock.

…

Sam didn’t dare breathe.

He clamped a hand over Alisa’s cherry-red lips and then cautiously waved it in front of my face with his free hand.

Only when I didn’t react did he sigh a breath of relief. He reached out to stroke my cheek gently, coaxing me as he always did.

“Babe, are you having a nightmare? Don’t talk nonsense. I’d never divorce you, silly girl. I love you... I love you so much.”

I noticed his voice changed slightly on the word “love”. His eyes lingered on Alisa, clouded with desire, though I didn’t know if his declaration was meant for me or her.

His hand, still resting on my cheek, trembled slightly.

My eyes burned. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, forcing myself not to cry again.

I didn’t call him out. Instead, I asked, “Sam, what are you doing?”

“Babe, I-I was just watching a movie. Sorry if I woke you up…” He stammered, trying to explain his way out.

That excuse again.

He’d used it so many times—in the bathroom, the kitchen, the study, and the pool. I’d even heard it in the nursery we once decorated while dreaming about a future with children.

Back then, I thought he was just being cheeky, teasing me. Now I know how foolish and naïve I was.

The unfamiliar scent of a woman’s perfume should’ve clued me in. They'd been using this excuse to play out their little affair right under my nose, knowing I couldn’t see.

Alisa, clearly annoyed that Sam’s attention wasn’t on her, grabbed her phone and typed out a message for him to see:

[Sam, we’re out of condoms. Why don’t you ask your wife to grab them? Otherwise, as the star of this movie, I might just moan out loud!]

The bedframe gave a small tremble as she smirked and pressed her lips together.

Sam’s veins bulged at his temple. His eyes darted toward me in panic.

Alisa, however, scoffed and typed again.

[What are you so scared of? Your wife’s blind. What’s she gonna see?]

His breath hitched. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled to keep calm.

Then, like a man who’d just given up, he let out a deep sigh. “Babe, can you hand me the box of cigarettes on the nightstand?”

That cigarette box he mentioned was clearly labeled: Durex Ultra-Thin—Bare Feel.

It turned out Sam wanted me to hand him condoms for him and another woman.

I froze in disbelief.

Just like that, a memory hit me.

I remembered a time I’d made a scene, crying and pleading for him to quit smoking. He’d held me tight and promised again and again that he would.

And he really had.

Now, it was clear that a lot of time had passed since then. So much time that this 38-year-old version of Sam didn’t feel like the man I married anymore. He was a stranger.

My nose stung. Still, I let out a miserable smile and reached for the condom box.

Without my usual fumbling, I handed it to him without missing a beat. I played dumb, kept my voice low and raspy. “Sam, smoking late at night isn’t good for your health.”

I didn’t grope around like a blind woman would. Also, when I spoke, I called him by his full name, something I hadn’t done in years.

However, he didn’t notice. His attention was still on Alisa.

“Babe, I’m just having a craving. It’s only one cigarette. I’ll go smoke in the bathroom and take a shower too. You get some rest.”

With that, he hoisted an impatient Alisa into his arms. She clung to his shoulders, a smug smile on her face as he carried her into the bathroom.

The sound of the shower echoed through the room, mocking me.

Sam always said I had a soft heart. I’d always forgive him as long as he begged.

This time, though, he was wrong.

When he was eighteen, clumsy and immature, I could forgive anything he did.

It would not be the same for the man Sam had become at thirty-eight, especially not after witnessing his betrayal with my own eyes.

I picked up my phone and called my parents.

“Mom, Dad. My eyesight’s back. I’ve made my decision. I want to go back to Northbridge, but I need a favor first. I want a divorce. The sooner, the better.”