7/17/2012: Dialogue Flex: "I don't have time for this right now," he said.

Complacency in a marriage is the worst kind of betrayal.

It cuts deeper than any knife and leaves bruises that exist beneath the skin. Bruises that hurt so deeply you're afraid they might never fade.

There is no identifying reason for it. And that's what makes it worse. It happens gradually, building slowly, until it owns you.

Until your entire life is ruled by it.

And I never thought it would happen to me.

I never imagined my husband and I would reach a place where we were nothing more than roommates who went through the motions of having an actual marriage.

But somehow, we did…




"What time will you be home?" I asked. It was the simplest of questions, one I didn't think he would mind.

Or so I thought.

"I don't have time for this right now," he said. In that voice. The one he'd developed slowly, but steadily, over the last year. The one that cut. The one that spoke of annoyance.

I closed my eyes and tried to keep myself from falling apart. That voice made everything hurt. Everything he did lately made me hurt.

I had no idea if he cared anymore.

I took a deep breath in, and then let it out, trying to keep my voice steady. "I know you're busy. I just wanted to know if I should have dinner ready at the usual time, or if you're going to be late…"

I could hear him talking in the background, and I knew—I knew—he wasn't listening to me, but still, I waited for an answer.

"Edward?" I prompted, checking to see if he was still on the line.

"I really don't know and I have to be in a meeting in two minutes. If I'm not home, just put the shit in the oven for me. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay—" I started say, wanting so badly to tell him I loved him. If only to see if he would return the sentiment. The only response was the sound of dead air.

That was how it all began.