Wanting to be Seen

This is my fist submission. I wanted to take a run at a couple of old tropes. This is my attempt at the "wife goes on a date" theme. Heavy on dialogue, description, no sex. This is also Part 1 of a much longer piece around 16000 words. If there is interest, I'll post the rest. This first part is the instigating event; the remainder explores the aftermath and fallout. For the gramma and spelling police, I'm Australian and this is written in Aussie English.

Wanting to be seen.

Arriving Home

Michael pushed open the front door with a dull click of the latch. He exhaled, relieved to be home early on a Friday. The scent of cinnamon and something floral hung in the air, deceptively warm.

"Anne?" he called, loosening his tie.

He heard movement upstairs, quick steps on hardwood.

"Hey!" Anne's voice was chipper but strained. "I'm up here!"

Michael dropped his briefcase by the side table and walked slowly to the stairs, feeling the fatigue of a long work week slip into something more like dread. The tone in her voice... it wasn't right.

"Coming," he said, his voice catching.

He climbed the stairs and saw her in the bedroom, the closet flung open like a broken promise. Dresses were scattered on the bed. She was in front of the full-length mirror, applying lipstick with deliberate precision.

He stopped cold in the doorway.

"... You're going out?"

Anne paused, then screwed the lipstick shut. She didn't turn to him immediately.

"Yes," she said. "I am."

Michael blinked. "Okay, uh... date night? With me?" He tried to make it a joke, but it fell dead.

She finally turned. Her eyes were wide and solemn.

"No, Michael," she said quietly. "I'm going on a date. But not with you."

The words were so clear he felt them physically. His stomach lurched.

He made a strangled sound. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Anne sighed. "Please don't..."

"Anne." He stepped into the room, gesturing wildly at the bed. "You're getting dressed up to go see someone else?"

She flinched at his tone, but her chin lifted. "Yes."

There was a silence so profound he heard the ticking of the hall clock.

Michael swallowed. "You're cheating on me?"

"I don't want to call it that," she said softly.

"What do you want to call it?" he snapped.

"Time... Time for me, not cheating" she said, almost to herself.

"But that's what it is!" he shouted. "That is exactly what it is!"

Anne turned back to the mirror and smoothed her hair. "I'm telling you before I go because I want to be honest. I don't want to lie to you."

He barked a humourless laugh. "You think that's better? You think announcing you're about to go fuck someone else makes you honest?"

She closed her eyes.

Michael's voice cracked. "I don't get it" ... "What is this? What are you doing to us?"

"I'm seeing someone tonight," she said, forcing the words out like they hurt. "I will be spending the night with him. I'll be back tomorrow."

He staggered. He put a hand on the doorframe.

"Tomorrow," he repeated hollowly. "You'll come back tomorrow. Back to me."

She finally turned to face him fully, her arms crossed.

"Yes. Back to you. Back to us."

He made an ugly, wet sound in his throat. "Are you out of your mind?"

Anne's eyes filled with tears. "Don't make this harder."

"Harder?" He stepped forward, shaking. "You're going to leave our marriage for the night and come back like nothing happened?"

"No. Not like nothing happened," she said. "I know it will change things. But I want you to know. I want you to see me."

He was silent, breathing like a cornered animal.

"See you?" he said finally. "Anne, I don't even know who you are right now."

She pressed a fist to her mouth. Tears spilled over.

Michael's voice was raw. "Tell me. Tell me why you're doing this."

She dropped her hand and wiped at her eyes.

"Because I need to," she whispered. "Because I want to feel something. Because I want to know I can. I want to be wanted. I want to be seen"

Michael stared at her in horror.

"Wanted?" he rasped. "I want you. I love you."

"I know," she sobbed. "But I need more. Just once. Just this night. Then I'll come home. I'll be yours again."

Michael let out a guttural sound of despair.

He turned away, then back, hands splayed in disbelief.

"You want permission?"

"I'm not asking permission," Anne said, voice low. "I'm telling you... so you're not being deceived. I'm telling you because you deserve to know."

He shook his head violently.

"No. No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to inform me you're going to blow up our life and expect me to wait here while you..."

She broke down crying.

Michael softened for half a second, then his face contorted in rage.

"Who is he?"

She didn't answer.

He stepped forward and shouted, "WHO?"

Anne's shoulders shook. "He's someone I met at work."

He felt his blood go cold.

"Jesus Christ."

She looked at him, pleading. "Michael. I'm coming back. I'm not leaving you. This is one night. Just one."

Michael's voice was hollow.

"There is no 'just one.' Don't you see? You do this, you kill us."

Her lips trembled. "I don't want to kill us."

He snorted. "Could've fooled me."

Silence.

Finally, he said:

"Don't go."

Her eyes widened.

"Please, Anne. Don't go. Stay here. We can fix this. Whatever you think you're missing, I'll give it to you. I'll do anything."

She turned away, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry."

Michael lunged forward and grabbed her arm. Not hard. Desperate.

"Please," he whispered.

She wrenched free.

"I have to finish getting ready," she said, her voice breaking.

Michael stood there, breathing raggedly, watching the woman he loved put on mascara through tears.

He didn't know if he wanted to scream or collapse.

The Argument

Michael didn't leave. He couldn't.

He watched her pull a brush through her hair with trembling hands.

His voice was low, shaking. "You're not serious. This is a joke. Tell me this is some fucked-up test."

Anne didn't look at him. "It's not a test."

"You think you can go be with someone else tonight and come back here tomorrow like my wife?"

She shut her eyes. "I'll still be your wife. I'll still love you."

He felt dizzy. He stumbled back to the edge of the bed and sat down hard.

"Jesus Christ. I'm going to be sick."

She turned then, mascara streaked, lips trembling. "I didn't want to hurt you."

Michael let out a strangled laugh. "Oh! Well, you have. Congratulations."

Anne's chin wobbled. "I didn't want to lie. I didn't want to sneak around. I wanted you to know."

He squinted at her like she was speaking another language. "You wanted to cheat honestly?"

Her voice cracked. "Yes."

Michael bent forward, head in hands.

Silence for a long time.

She whispered: "Say something."

He barked: "What do you want me to say? 'Have fun'? 'Don't forget your toothbrush'?"

"You want to be seen but you don't want to listen' he exclaimed throwing his hands in the air.

She winced.

Michael dropped his hands. "Why him?"

Anne sat on the vanity stool, hugging herself. "He listens. He notices me. He says things that make me feel. He sees...."

She didn't finish.

Michael's voice turned venomous. "Things I don't ...?"

She shook her head. "It's not about you, It's not about you failing. It's about me needing...."

"Him?" He barked cutting her off unable to hide the contempt.

She started crying. "I don't know. I don't know what I need. I just know I can't go on not knowing ... not feeling ... something"

Michael stared at her, numb, cold spreading through him, a numbing cold.

"So, I'm supposed to sit here and wait? Wait while you fuck him?"

She looked at the floor.

"I don't want you to wait. I want you to see, I want you to know."

He made a choked sound. "See what, Know what?" ... "That you're willing to burn us down. That you're willing to let our marriage die. That your OK with this. That you can live with yourself after this?"

Her voice was so small. "That I'm human. That I make mistakes."

Michael shook his head. "You're not making a mistake. You're planning one."

Anne sobbed, covering her mouth.

Michael got up abruptly. He paced the room.

"Tell me why I shouldn't throw your shit in the yard."

"Tell me why I shouldn't change the locks right now."

"Tell me why I should be here tomorrow."

She gasped in pain.

He stopped, breathing hard. "I'm waiting."

"Because ... I love you," she whimpered.

He laughed bitterly. "No. No, you don't. You don't do this to someone you love."

Anne wiped her nose. "I'm telling you because I love you."

He shouted so loud the windows rattled: "STOP SAYING THAT!"

She cringed.

He lowered his voice to a hiss. "You think you can come home tomorrow and what? Hug me? Kiss me? Fuck me? Tell me you missed me?"

Her sobs became uncontrollable.

Michael watched her fall apart and felt nothing but black rage.

"Why him?" he asked again, softer now. "What does he have that I don't?"

She sniffled. "He doesn't have anything you don't. He's just... new."

Michael felt like he'd been stabbed.

"New," he echoed.

She nodded, ashamed.

"Like a toy you're not bored with yet."

She pressed a hand to her mouth, tears rolling over her fingers.

Michael felt the fight drain out of him all at once.

He sat back down on the bed, staring at the carpet.

"Is it going to be better?" he asked dully.

She didn't answer.

"Will it be worth it?" he pressed.

Her voice was so quiet he almost didn't hear it. "I don't know."

He shut his eyes.

Anne swallowed hard. "I just want to know how I feel. Once. Then I can come back. I can focus. I can be yours. I won't wonder anymore."

Michael looked at her like she was a stranger.

"You want to get it out of your system?"

She flinched.

He wiped his face roughly. "Like a cold you need to catch once?"

She moaned. "Please, don't make it sound cheap."

"It is cheap," he snapped.

Silence.

Michael's breathing was ragged. "What if I say no? What if I forbid you?"

She closed her eyes. "Then you're not really hearing me."

He barked a laugh. "Oh, I hear you. You're saying our vows are worth less than your curiosity. Your honour is worth less than a what ... a feeling"

She whimpered.

He gestured at her furiously. "Get undressed. Cancel the date. Tell him no. Tell him you're married. That you love your husband. That you don't want to be a cheating liar."

She shook her head violently.

"I can't ... I promised ..."

That was the shot heard around the world ... Michael's heart shattered.

"Then go," he said, voice breaking. "Get out."

Anne let out a sob so raw it hurt to hear.

He didn't move.

She stood slowly, wiping tears. She picked up her clutch with trembling fingers.

Michael couldn't look at her.

She lingered in the doorway.

"Michael," she whispered.

He didn't answer.

"I love you," she choked.

He didn't move.

"I'm sorry," she said.

And then she was gone.

He heard her steps on the stairs. The front door.

Silence.

Michael stayed on the bed, staring at the floor, his chest heaving.

He had no idea how long he sat there, alone with the smell of her perfume and the echo of her sobs.

The Morning After

Michael woke up to sunlight stabbing through the blinds.

His mouth felt like ash.

He sat up slowly, groaning.

The living room was a wreck--bottles, broken glass, couch cushions on the floor.

He remembered everything.

He checked his phone.

No reply ... Nothing.

The rage returned instantly.

He staggered to the kitchen and drank straight from the tap.

Then he just stood there, hands braced on the sink.

He pictured her. Still with him ... Fucking. On the way home ... Laughing.

He didn't know what he'd do when she walked in.

Can I even look at her?

He tried to imagine forgiving her.

The thought made him want to vomit.

He went upstairs and showered, scrubbing until his skin was red.

When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, bloodshot eyes, stubble, a cut on his forehead. Pain. Self loathing. He didn't even recognize himself.

She did this ... No, I did this ... too weak to stop her.

He dressed in old sweats and a T-shirt, too numb to care.

He waited in the living room, arms crossed, staring at the door.

Minutes dragged.

Then he heard it.

A car outside.

A door shutting.

Footsteps on the porch.

The key in the lock.

Michael's heart pounded so hard it hurt. Fists so tight his nails cut semicircles in his palm.

The door opened slowly, like it was trying to sneak away from its hinges, like it didn't belong.

Anne stood there.

She looked... Fresh, clean... New.

Her hair was brushed. Makeup gone. In a light sundress and sandals. A small overnight bag in one hand.

She froze when she saw him.

They stared at each other.

Michael's lip curled. "Well?"

Anne's eyes were clear, her expression neutral.

She shut the door behind her and turned toward him.

"Michael...."

He stood abruptly, cutting her off. The chair hit the floor, unnoticed.

"Don't," he spat.

"Please..."

"Don't say please."

She dropped the bag. It hit the floor with a dull thud.

He eyed it like it was evidence in a crime, like a body dumped in the street.

Fascinating, horrific, planned.

"Have fun?" he asked icily.

She covered her face.

Michael felt every muscle in his body tense.

"Look at me."

She didn't.

"I said, look at me!"

Anne lowered her hands.

Her face was ravaged by guilt and fear and tears.

He took a shuddering breath.

"Tell me it wasn't what I think."

She opened her mouth, but no words came.

He laughed, broken. "That's what I thought."

Anne stepped forward. "Michael, please, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I ..."

He held up a hand.

"Stop."

She froze.

He pointed at the couch.

"Sit."

She obeyed.

He stayed standing, looming over her.

"Tell me everything," he said, voice low and dangerous.

Anne sobbed.

He didn't care.

"Every. Single. Thing."

The Confession

Michael stood over her, arms crossed, face like stone, puffing through his nostrils like a bull about to charge.

Anne shivered on the couch, wiping her eyes.

"Talk," he ordered.

She swallowed. "Michael..."

"Don't start with 'I'm sorry.' Don't start with excuses. Start with what you did."

She sobbed once, a high, keening sound.

He slammed his palm on the back of the couch. "NOW!"

She jumped.

"I... I went to dinner with him," she said haltingly. "We talked. We drank wine. He... he told me I looked beautiful."

Michael's lip curled. "That's what you needed? Compliments?"

She shook her head. "It wasn't just that. I felt free. I felt... seen."

"Seen?" He laughed coldly. "I see you now ... Keep going."

Anne trembled.

"We went to a hotel," she whispered.

Michael closed his eyes.

He didn't speak.

She continued, voice shaking so hard it was barely intelligible.

"I wanted to. I chose it. I wasn't drunk. I knew what I was doing."

Michael's eyes snapped open, red-rimmed. "Did you fuck him?"

She flinched like he'd slapped her.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Say it," he snarled.

"I had sex with him," she choked out.

Michael let out a humourless laugh, shaking his head.

"Once?"

She paused.

His eyes narrowed. "How many times?"

She sobbed. "Twice ... and again this morning"

He felt the air leave his lungs.

"Details," he demanded.

She gasped in horror.

"Details!"

She shook her head frantically.

"Tell me how you felt. Tell me how you sounded ... Tell. Me. What. You. Did."

"Michael, please, I can't."

"DO IT!"

She fell apart. Howling, like a wounded animal.

He felt nothing, he wanted this, he wanted her to burn the last of the love with her words.

"He kissed me everywhere," she wailed. "I... I let him undress me. I moaned. I wanted it. I... I was on top. I told him he felt good. I screamed for him. I... I... oh God."

Michael turned away, the cold inside him slowly being replaced by nausea.

He was breathing like he'd run a marathon.

He felt like vomiting.

He forced himself to turn back.

"Did you think of me?"

She shook her head, crying harder.

"Answer me!"

"No," she sobbed. "I didn't think at all. Just felt"

He covered his mouth, choking back a sound between a scream and a sob, holding back the bile bubbling inside him.

He paced wildly, pulling at his hair.

Anne curled in on herself on the couch.

Finally, he stopped in front of her.

"You did this. You wanted this. You chose this. You planned this"

She nodded miserably.

He bent down so they were eye to eye.

"I want you to remember this moment for the rest of your life."

She gasped, tears streaming. Unable to look away from the vision of rage, of pain, of hate.

"Remember my face. Remember what you see. Remember what you did to me."

"I know," she wailed. "I know, I'm sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't erase it," he hissed.

"I know!"

"Sorry doesn't make me unsee you with him. Doesn't make me unknow what you did. Doesn't make me unhear your fucking moans in my head. Sorry doesn't reset your Vows"

She sobbed harder than he'd ever seen.

He straightened slowly.

"Why are you here?" he asked, voice hollow.

She sniffled, looking up in pure agony.

"Because I love you."

Michael laughed so bitterly it hurt his chest.

"You have a sick definition of love."

She reached for him. He recoiled.

She dropped her hand.

"I want to fix this," she pleaded.

"Fix?" he echoed.

She nodded desperately. "Please, Michael. I'll do anything. Therapy. Counselling. Grovel. Beg. I'll spend the rest of my life making it right. Just don't leave me."

He shook his head slowly.

"'Don't leave me.' You left me the moment you walked out that door. You left me the second you spread your legs for him."

She howled in pain.

He didn't flinch.

"I don't know if I can ever touch you again without picturing him. Without seeing you walk out the door."

"I know!" she cried. "I know, I know, please!"

"Was he better than me?"

She recoiled.

"Answer."

She shook her head violently.

"I don't care if you lie," he sneered.

"It wasn't better!" she wailed. "It wasn't about better. It was about different. About feeling something. Being Seen. And I hate myself for wanting it."

Michael felt like his insides were being ripped apart, he knew he was bringing the pain on himself. He could stop this now, but he needed it. The pain was real.

"So, you're saying it didn't even mean anything?"

She gasped, trying to breathe.

"It meant... something," she whispered.

"You meant to hurt me?"

She shook her head, bawling.

"I didn't want to hurt you. I knew I would, I wanted... I wanted to be seen, I wanted to feel ... Something."

Michael fell silent.

The quiet was worse than yelling.

Anne wiped her face with shaking hands.

"I'll do anything," she whispered.

Michael's voice was dead. "You already did."

She let out a guttural sob.

Michael walked to the door and opened it.

She looked at him, terrified.

"Go," he said flatly.

She shook her head; mouth open in horror.

"Get out," he repeated.

Anne fell to the floor in front of him, grabbing his pant leg.

"Please. Don't make me go. Don't throw me away. Don't give up on us."

He yanked his leg free.

"I didn't give up on us. You did."

She collapsed on the floor, screaming in grief, crying, ugly.

Michael watched, face impassive, tears rolling down his cheeks.

He didn't move.

The Bargain

The front door was still wide open. Anne lay on the floor at Michael's feet, sobbing so hard her whole-body shook.

The room and hallway beyond was bright with morning sun, they stood in shadow as if the darkness the gloom was just for them.

Michael stared down at her, unmoving. His jaw was locked. His eyes were red.

Minutes passed.

He finally exhaled, long and tired.

"Get up."

Anne looked up, stunned.

He pointed to the couch. "Sit down."

She obeyed immediately, crawling to the couch like someone half-drowned. Like an accident victim. She sat on the edge, clutching herself.

Michael closed the door.

The lock clicked.

He leaned against it for a long moment, head bowed.

Then he walked to the middle of the room and stood facing her.

His voice was low, worn. "You want to stay?"

Anne nodded frantically. "Yes. Yes."

"You think this can be fixed?"

She swallowed. "I don't know. I hope so."

Michael stepped closer. "Then tell me."

She blinked. "Tell you what?"

He narrowed his eyes. "What are you going to do to make this right?"

Anne's breath caught.

"I--I'll go to counselling. I'll let you track my phone. I'll delete the details of every man I've ever worked with; I'll change jobs if you ask me to. Anything."

Michael's stare didn't soften. "Not good enough."

She faltered. "What... what do you want from me?"

"I want to know," he said slowly, "what you think you need to do to even begin repairing what you broke. Not just gestures that will make you feel better; make you feel like you're doing something"

"I want to know what your plan is. How did you expect this to go? You must have thought about it."

She was silent, eyes wide.

"Convince me," he added. "If I let you stay... convince me it's not a mistake."

Anne's voice trembled. "I'll confess to everyone. My parents. My friends. I'll wear this shame like a mark if that's what it takes. I'll tell them I broke your heart. That I betrayed our vows. That I risked everything because I was selfish."

"So, your plan is to add humiliation to betrayal. Tell everyone that I'm a cuckold, that you had to search for feeling outside of us. Tell everyone that I don't do it for you."

Michael watched her carefully.

"No ... No, but I need to be honest."

"Like you were honest last night ... and this morning?"

I'll take every insult you throw at me," she continued. "I won't raise my voice. I won't defend myself. You can ask me about that night a thousand times, and I'll answer every question, every, one."

She wiped her eyes and went on.

"I'll write it down. Every detail. If it helps. If it purges the poison from me."

Michael said nothing.

"I'll sleep on the couch," she whispered. "I won't expect forgiveness. Not now. Not ever, unless you want to give it. I'll take every ounce of hurt you want to throw at me, because I earned it. I deserve it."

He took a step closer.

"You can check my phone in the middle of the night. You can put cameras in the house. I don't care."

Michael's voice cracked. "You'll tell him it's over?"

Her lip trembled. "I already did. Last night. When I left his hotel room... I told him I was never coming back. I blocked his number. I deleted the thread."

"Then prove it," he said.

She got up, walked to her bag, pulled out her phone. She showed it to him, her blocked list, her message history, her call log.

Michael took the phone. Scrolled.

He found the contact. He unblocked it.

Then he typed:

This is her husband. I know who you are. I'm coming for you.

Petty but it felt good.

He re-blocked the number. Then set the phone down.

Anne stood silently, watching, like a prisoner awaiting a verdict.

Michael's voice dropped to a whisper.

"You said it wasn't worth it."

She nodded.

"Then tell me why I shouldn't end this anyway. Right now."

She stepped closer. "Because I still want us. Because I still want you. Because even after what I did, the moment I saw your face this morning, I knew I was home. And that if you throw me out, I'll never be whole again."

Michael stared into her eyes for a long time.

"I don't love you right now," he said.

Her breath caught.

"I don't know if I'll ever love you again."

She nodded. "I'll wait. As long as it takes."

"I don't trust you. Not even a little."

"Then I'll earn it. Day by day. Word by word. Until maybe... someday... you'll look at me and not want to scream."

He took a step back, as if retreating from the weight of her words or pushed by the strength of her conviction.

"You broke something in me, Anne."

"I know," she whispered. "I broke it in me too."

Silence stretched between them.

Michael's face was unreadable.

Then, quietly, he said:

"One chance."

Anne's eyes widened.

"You so much as think dishonestly, it's over. You flinch, you lie, you hide... I'm gone. For good."

She nodded rapidly, fresh tears falling.

"You're not forgiven," he said.

"I know."

"You may never be."

"I understand."

He looked away. Then whispered, "I don't even know why I'm doing this."

"Because you loved me," she said. "And maybe some part of you still does."

Michael didn't answer.

He walked past her and collapsed into the armchair.

She stood in the centre of the room, trembling.

He gestured wearily.

"Get your things. You're staying in the guest room."

She didn't move.

"You need to convince me. That this isn't a mistake. That you're serious"

"I will" she said, her voice steadier

Don't make me regret this," he muttered.

"I won't," she whispered. "I swear."

She walked upstairs, her footsteps barely making a sound.

Michael sat in silence, staring at the overnight bag. Seeing but not understanding.

She had planned this, planned the date, planned the confrontation. For what?

Almost like she wanted to pull the house down and live in the ruins.

Why didn't she have a plan for the fallout, a plan for this?

He didn't know what this was.

Not forgiveness. Not healing. Not redemption. Not understanding.

A feeling ... a nagging feeling, something about all of this was wrong.

Just the smouldering edge of something too important to throw away and too painful to hold.

This ... This was just the beginning ... the beginning of something harder than starting over.

Trying to stay.