The room was small and badly lit. The glow from an electric lamp illuminated its sparse furnishings. One tiny rain spattered window threw a small shaft of daylight into the room almost as though it had started off enthusiastically but given it up as a bad job.

The room’s whole background was gloomy, from its grey patterned wallpaper to the discarded newsprint of yesterday’s Times.

She was seated on a low uncomfortable wooden stool in front of the only modern nod to technology in the room, the computer. The computer and the room were her place of sanctuary. A momentary breather in a too hectic life. She got up and walked around the room impatiently which took all of a minute because it seemed to be closing in on her.

She sat down again and drummed her fingers nervously on the mahogany desk eyeing her empty coffee cup in frustration. Usually, at this time of day, she came here to write her blog. Light, frothy musings that sprang to her fingers unbidden. She had started in initially to understand if she was able to stick at anything but it had become a way of life she adored.

Today she was out of ideas and she knew why. She was upset, simple as that. She’d even perused the internet in the hopes of sparking off her creativity, but nothing.

She pulled up a new document and began to type

“Mark, I always knew I wasn’t your first choice. When you told me you loved me it was like a beautiful miracle. But we’ve never been happy. Not really. I once asked you if you would go to the ends of the Earth for me and you said you would if you were the only one who could help.

I should have known then. I should have stopped it then. I was a fool. Now we are married it’s worse. We might go through the motions but every touch and kiss is a lie. I’ve always been a unmysterious part of the furniture for you. It’s time to end this. I saw that letter in your pocket from a “Friend” so this won’t come as too much of a blow I’m sure. You’ve always played away and I’ve always turned a blind eye to it. Now I want some peace and a life that doesn’t include you. I’m leaving you. You can have the house, for what it’s worth.



It wasn’t what she’d meant to write but it felt good . And so did the heavy suitcase in her hand as she opened the door and walked out.





Till next time.

Ps the above is almost all fiction but is based very loosely on a real life event.





7 thoughts on “Her melancholy life.

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