When I gazed wistfully out at the sunset, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. A mere glance that nagged at me.

I didn't know what possessed me to take a closer look at my husband's screen. All my life I'd prided myself on my strong values, which included the sacredness of personal privacy.

But I peered at the open window anyway and found a chat box.

He had been speaking to a German woman. It wasn't an innocuous conversation about the weather, favorite artists, or holiday plans either.

Lava burned in my veins as I read his tender words of love and affection for her. The Fool had hardly spoken that way to me in the past two years. The few times he had made an effort always happened after he'd screwed up and wanted to apologize.

He didn't even have the common courtesy or creativity to develop a new spiel.

Strawberry lips. Skin as pale as starlight. Of course, he's going on and on about her amazing giant baubles of delight.

This lady had many qualities I lacked: perfect German, enough wealth for equestrian sports, traditional feminine beauty, and a childlike naivete that made her a perfect target.

If that's what you wanted, why the hell did you marry me?

To this day, I wondered if The Fool had left the chat box open on purpose so that I would end the relationship that had imprisoned us both. During their discussion he longed for home. For her nearness. For a fresh start.

Fine, make me your villain.

It didn't surprise me. Or disturb me. Perhaps that realization bothered me the most: I didn't love him enough to give a flying rat's butt whom he romanced. Or that he'd romanced anyone at all. Even a virtual stranger.

With a wry scoff I shook my head.

To my surprise, I felt a sense of relief. Flipping amazing relief. It wasn't simply my vivid imagination. This gave me concrete proof that my marriage had crapped its last turd long ago.

Until then I'd wondered whether our marriage might have been worth salvaging. Worth fighting for. My family had always taught me to remain faithful to loved ones. At least I didn't want to end things simply because our finances had become temporarily difficult.

But this conversation showed me without a shadow of a doubt that I should cut my losses—in every way—and start afresh.

Without a word I packed all my important papers and possessions into two large blue velour suitcases stained with grease. It wasn't difficult. The past five years I'd prepared myself mentally, emotionally, and practically for this situation as though divorce was inevitable. Guilt nagged at me as I packed the binder which contained all my relevant documents ready to go.

"What are you doing?" he demanded in German.

"What I should have done long ago," I retorted in English. "I'm getting the hell out of here."

With a decisive splash The Fool jumped out of the tub and pulled the plug. Water drained. It didn't take long before he appeared with a towel wrapped around his narrow hips. Once upon a time, my husband had reminded me of a classical sculpture. No matter how much exercise may have carved his body, I never wanted to see or touch him again.

No surprise! I hadn't touched him in over a year—at first because I couldn't after the accident. Once I'd healed, I didn't want to.

I couldn't stop that nagging voice in my head. This is all your fault. What did you expect? If you can't show affection, a man will seek it elsewhere.

But I couldn't give myself to a man who didn't show me love or respect. Any more than I could give myself to a man whom I no longer loved or respected.

"What's the meaning of this?" He grasped me gently by the shoulders. "Victoria, answer me!"

"Why don't you answer that floozy?"

After gesturing at the laptop with a flippant jerk of my head, I caught the flash of understanding in his sea-green eyes. Funny how it took DEFCON-1 to get him to listen to me.

"What means...floozy?" he asked in a mild German accent he hadn't managed to shake.

"Do you have so many women you can't tell which one I meant?"

His shoulders slumped. Shrugging away from his grasp, I darted back and forth, packing my things like a rabid hummingbird.

"You won't leave."

"Oh yeah?" I wrenched up the handles of the suitcases with a decisive click. "Watch me."

"Toria, please! Don't—"

"I'm as unhappy as you are." I faced his stony expression, hewn from pure granite. "So, please, do us both a favor and go home."

Armed with the three grand in cash I'd set aside for this kind of emergency, I slung my backpack across my shoulder.

And I left.

The Fool could lure another woman into his life. Not me. I could only pity him and the young lady eight years my junior and eight times prettier who deserved a man far better than him.

Did my husband's ex have the same thoughts when she'd left him?

Have fun, asshat. But not with me.

Our crappy life together ends today.

___

Word count: 856
Total word count: 1,745