The Inscription

A tired husband finds an anonymous inscription and is up all night.

I walked our gravel road in the pitch dark from the Christmas party. I couldn't find my phone, but I managed to find my way home. When I felt earth underfoot, I'd pivot back to the rocky road. I almost slipped once but caught myself on a tree. So, it’s a wonder the dim glow of my wife's alarm clock couldn't help me avoid an unexpected obstacle.

When I stubbed my toe on the ottoman, a book slid off the arm of the chair. My wife jostled under the blankets. I froze. Once she was settled, and after I let out a silent scream, I picked it up and saw the scribbled paragraph inside the cover. The inscription wasn't entirely legible, only the closing, 'I love you.' Not only was I certain that my toe lost its nail, but I faced the fact that a stranger loved my wife. I knew the anonymous inscription would keep my mind reeling. I felt my ears grow hot. Goodbye sleep.

I sat down on the powder pink armchair and elevated my throbbing toe on the matching ottoman. My wife might kill me for bleeding on her favorite chair. I bought the set when my wife told me that we were having a girl. Our next kid was a boy, so we put the pink duo in our little girl's room. While packing up our old home, when our daughter asked for a beanbag instead, we gave in. My wife moved the nursery chair several times in the new house, but I wasn't sure when she settled on our room. You still don't know?

I thought we'd meet at the party, but my wife never showed. We hadn't talked much since the move, not at all really, but the invitation hung on the fridge for two weeks. We used to spend every Sunday night sharing a couch pillow. My wife read a book or wrote on her laptop, while I watched my games in peace. I would squeeze her leg and make her giggle or hold her hand and smile. She'd smile too. I ruminated in the family-scented chair and realized that the last several Sundays, since we moved, my wife sat on the opposite end of the sofa, with her own pillow, out of reach, and she wouldn't smile back. Why didn't I notice? Or did you?

I inspected the book in the dark. I felt confident my wife's secret friend didn't know her like I did. She preferred an e-reader because it was cheaper to download books, and she could pick up a new story anytime. The fool gave her a hardcover. Why would someone buy her a gift anyway? We were new in town. She hadn't made any real friends yet. I thought I was her best friend. Were you?

After a few minutes, my eyes adjusted to the fuzzy light from her bedside table, but I still couldn't figure out the message. I would've bet my next paycheck it was her new boss. I imagined walking into my wife's office with lunch from her favorite place. She'd politely introduce me to her new colleagues. If someone was an arrogant dick, I'd report him for harassment. I dreamt of finding embarrassing posts from his frat days online and planned to email everyone in their office. I was sure the guy would be an ass. Who else flirts with a married woman? I fantasized I'd find photos of the two of them! I planned on looking for her phone after my toe calmed down. Right, like you knew her password.

I had physical proof! The realization was a flash of brilliance and made my life easier. Never mind her socials, or his. I decided to write my own message in the book, right under her lover's note. I'd sign my initials after writing, Me too! I wasn't a coward like that guy! Fear makes us blind.

My wife's bedside table had a stack of legal notepads under a jar of pens and pencils. I stood up. My toe wasn't pissed at all. I made it to the arrangement of multi-colored writing utensils. I eyed up the longest instrument, a pencil. It looked like a teacher's pet with a permanent hand up. You knew she wouldn't fall back to sleep if you knocked it down.

Luckily, I remembered that graphite could be erased, so I turned my fingers to a pen. I didn't care which one. I went for the closest, signed as planned, and placed the book open on the ottoman. I sat in the pale pink chair and waited for sunrise. I wonder if a prayer would've helped. Does it now?

My wife's alarm clock sang, and she sat up but looked down at the floor when she yawned. Then my wife stood and stretched. She completely ignored me and walked to the bathroom. I refused to be treated that way, so I sat and waited for her to return. My wife tortured me. She removed her towel to dry her hair. After she was dressed, my wife left the room again but came back with a coffee mug. She stood in the doorway and looked like she was daydreaming, but her eyes gazed in my direction. I asked what she wanted, but she only walked to the window. I pushed the ottoman. That got her attention. That is true.

My wife turned around and came over to the chair. She looked at the open book on the stool. I grinned as she tiptoed closer. I felt her clothing brush my leg. My wife pulled at her cardigan and cuddled her warm mug of coffee. Still, she never looked at me. Married for ten years, what happened to us? You know.

Finally, she bent to pick up the book but hesitated. I hadn't noticed the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes until then. My wife's eyes grew, like in a time-lapse nature video of fruit growing. She dropped her mug, and it bounced off the arm of the chair. Liquid covered everything in its path. I stood and yelled. The chair pushed back, the book slid off the ottoman, and my wife ran out of the room. The truth will set you free.

My wife has since rented the house without my consent. Not sure how that works, but I'm in the attic, and a new family lives in our rooms. The chair? Oh, I have the chair, it's where I sit every day and read the book I signed, The Year of Magical Thinking.