Another Love Pt. 02

I drop to my knees and begin to cry, why had this happened now? I decide that I have only one chance, to come clean and pray that Rob will be able to get past this. I am not ashamed of what I have done, or sorry. I just hate that Rob knows and has been so hurt. It simply is not fair. Neither of us have done anything wrong. Why should we suffer?

I decide the best thing to do is make Rob a good dinner and try to talk. I need to explain the unexplainable.

I decide on Macaroni and Cheese. I have a special recipe that I developed because it is Rob's favorite. I reduced the fat and salt by substituting chicken stock and tomatoes for some of the cheese and milk. It is not health food, but it is better for you. I make it rarely as a treat. I throw myself into the effort.

I pick out an outfit to wear. Attractive without being too sexy is the goal. I want to look desirable without suggesting that I am easy. I need to make sure that Rob understands that Philippe was the only other man and that it was not a sordid affair. I was and am a good woman and wife.

By six thirty, I am seated in the parlor. The painting I have placed in the back hall closet, wrapped carefully in an old quilt. The dinner is cooked. Two bottles of white wine are chilling in the fridge. I wear my pink tea dress that sets off my hair. I am as ready as I ever would be.

I hear Rob on the back stairs. He does not come in. He heads straight up to the fourth-floor apartment. I wait for him to come down, but he does not. So much for my plan to confront him seated in the parlor. I proceed up the front stairs to the fourth floor. There is a small landing at the top and then an interior door that has a fairly substantial lock. I knock on the inner door.

"Rob I'm home," I say, there is no answer.

I can hear movement within.

"Please Rob I made dinner—Mac and Cheese—we can eat and talk."

"Please, Rob let me—at least, try to explain," I say to the silence from within.

"I'll be downstairs waiting," I say before leaving.

He does not come down that night. He lives on the fourth floor, I have the rest of the house. We do not speak or communicate. Each evening I go up and ask him to dinner; this goes on for two weeks. Avril calls every day and commiserates with me.

"Have you spoken yet?" she asks.

"No, I am getting the silent treatment."

"Oh dear, why does he not understand? If only Philippe were here..."

I can hear in her voice how lonely and lost she is.

We speak of the exhibition. She is having difficulties dealing with the museum bureaucracy. There are nearly six hundred possible works, but they are in various hands, and their acquisition for the exhibit requires more effort than the museum wishes to expend. She needs help, but she insists I first speak to Rob.

On Friday of the third week, I have had enough.

Knocking firmly on the fourth-floor apartment door, I say,

"Robert McDonald, this is your wife. The woman you have been married to for the last twenty-five years. I am the mother of your two sons and the person who loves you more than her own life. I always have and always will love you. But I have a love story to tell you that concerns me and someone else. After everything we have meant to each other all these years, you owe me the time to hear me out. I will be downstairs with dinner waiting. You can eat and then listen to my story," I say through a firmly closed door.

He comes down about an hour later for dinner. I have expensive steaks and a good bottle of Cabernet. We eat, and then I begin. I speak to him from my heart. I don't lie or withhold. Shielding Rob from the truth is over.

"I met a wonderful man who was there for me when I needed him. First, he helped me sexually when I was in a terrible situation, and then he took care of my children and me when I was left alone," I begin...

Look for next part under Group Sex.