Phantom
: Chapter 16

September 10, 1944

Three days.

It’s been three days since I’ve seen Ronaldo, and I’m at my wits’ end waiting for him to appear again.

Since I can remember, lying in bed with John felt like a duty as his wife rather than an activity I craved. I always thought that was normal, though. I never knew different. I never knew there could be so much passion between two people. With John, sex was never unpleasant, but it didn’t satisfy me the way it seemed to satisfy him. Every time he released inside me, I always wondered what he was experiencing. His trembling body and quiet grunts spoke of a pleasure far beyond what I felt.

Now, intimacy with him would be unpleasant. I haven’t allowed him to touch me since Ronaldo started coming around. And especially not after that awful June night. I still have nightmares about it, and he knows that, too. But sometimes, I worry my refusal will cause him to snap again. He’s attempted to reconcile multiple times, speaking of having needs. Before, I wouldn’t have understood that need. Now, I know exactly what he means. Yet I can’t replace it in me to care.

The only needs I do care about are mine . . . and Ronaldo’s.

Worse yet, the stupid man leaves me hanging!

How does he expect me to go on like this? How could he subject me to his electric touch and passionate kisses yet leaving me starving for more? He’s given me pleasure beyond what should be natural, but I can’t help but crave more.

For the first time in my life, I feel this cavernous emptiness between my thighs begging to be filled, and only by him. He said he wants to take his time with me. Make sure that I’m truly ready, despite the numerous times I’ve insisted I am.

It’s driving me wild.

I’m already a terrible wife, but as of late, I’m a madwoman, too.

“Genevieve!”

The sudden outburst of my name has a scream bursting from my throat. Panic and adrenaline zip through my system at a deadly rate.

John stands before me, glaring down at me with annoyance.

“You scared me half to death,” I gasp, clutching my aching chest.

For the past hour, I’ve been staring out the bay window while Sera reads on the couch. I must have gotten lost in thought.

“I’ve called your name three times now. What has you so distracted lately? Shouldn’t you be paying attention to your family?” he gripes, anchoring his hands on his hips.

The insult burrows beneath my skin, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that. I look over to the couch, where Sera watches us with an apprehensive glimmer in her eyes.

She rarely sees us fight, though lately, that’s been slowly changing. She’s borne witness to the many times John and I have snapped at each other or glared through tense silences that stretched too long.

I hate it. I hate it so much.

And as hard as it is, I try to shield her from it as much as possible.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I had an awful nightmare last night and got little sleep. I’m afraid it’s made me a little spacey today.” Though I paste on an apologetic smile, my stare is sharp, and my underlying meaning is clear. He knows exactly which nightmare I’m referring to.

If he wants to cast stones at me, then I will show him I have a mean throw, too.

His spine straightens, and his chin lifts so he can stare down his nose at me with disapproval. Rage simmers in his gaze, but if there’s one thing that I can be sure of, it’s that he doesn’t like Sera witnessing our destruction, either.

“Of course, dear.” He spits the word out like it’s a rotten fruit. “All is forgiven.”

I narrow my eyes, though I keep my smile firmly in place.

“Good,” I chirp, breaking the tension and standing from my chair. I park my hands on my hips in an excited manner. “Sera, how about a game of Monopoly?”

“Or . . . ,” John cuts in, and it takes monumental effort not to glare. “Why don’t you ride your bike downtown to the ice-cream shop and pick us up a few pints? When you get back, we can play.”

The bastard. Offering ice cream to Sera is not only a clever way to get her out of the house but one that is guaranteed to work. Our daughter has a sweet tooth, and she will never say no to—

“I’d love to!” Sera exclaims, jumping up from the couch, her book long forgotten.

I sigh and drop my arms to my sides in defeat. Sera bounds up to her father, splaying out her open palm with a jovial grin stretching wide across her face. Her cinnamon-brown eyes sparkle when John drops a few dimes in her hand.

“You know our favorite flavors, don’t you?” John asks.

“Yep!” she chirps, then skips off toward the foyer, hurriedly putting on her shoes and raincoat before running out the door.

The ensuing silence is heavier than rainfall during a storm.

John faces me, and all the resentment between us spills out onto the checkered floor from our stares, our body language, and the curls of our upper lips.

I’m tempted to ask him if we can even afford that ice cream, but I already know the answer. We can’t.

John will pay our bills, and within a month, we will fall behind again, only to repeat the cycle and keep me in a constant state of worry about if we’re going to lose the house or not.

I set my journal on the footstool before me, drawing his attention to it.

“What do you write in that journal that’s so much more important than paying attention to your family?” he asks, though it sounds more like an accusation.

I narrow my eyes, fury bubbling in my chest from his condescending attitude.

“The gall of you,” I hiss. “As if you haven’t favored a bottle of booze over us countless nights.”

His teeth clench, the muscle in his jaw pulsing. “What are you writing about, Genevieve?” he asks again, ignoring my barb.

“My boring, uneventful life,” I bite out. “Why does it matter? I’ve written in a journal every single day for the past sixteen years we’ve been together.”

He stares at the diary resting on the footstool in front of my chair, and my heart sinks. He lunges for it, but I snatch it up before he can make it a step.

“How dare you!” I shout, my heart racing while adrenaline and panic release into my system.

“Give it to me now,” he barks, holding out his hand. “You’ve been acting suspicious as of late, and as your husband, it is my right to know why.”

“Suspicious?” I screech. “My days are no different than they’ve always been.” The lie singes my tongue, but I don’t dare let it show.

“I just want to know what you’re writing,” he assures, attempting to correct his voice to a soothing, placating tone.

“This is the one thing I have for myself, Johnathan. The one thing that is mine and only mine. And you want to invade that because of what? Because you’re more drunk than you are sane and suddenly think it is I who has things to hide? You’ve been hiding truths from me for months! And you have the gall to accuse me?”

I take a step toward him, holding the journal to my chest.

“If you dare read this, I will never forgive you. Any hope of our having a marriage beyond a piece of paper forcing us together will crumble away. I will cease to love you, to care for you, to hold any part of you dear. This diary is all I have, and you will not take that away from me. Do you understand me?”

He’s furious. It’s visible by the way he fumes silently, clenching his fists until they bleach white as he glowers at me with resentment.

Deep down, he can sense that I’m no longer in love with him, and while he may not realize it yet, he knows there’s something wrong with me beyond being upset over his transgressions. I’m certain he doesn’t know why I’ve strayed, but I’m sure there’s a niggling feeling in the back of his head warning him of my own betrayal.

And I’m robbing him of the peace of mind that would accompany assuaging that feeling.

I do feel guilty for that, truly. But I also know that if he were to replace out, not only would Sera suffer more than she already has but also I might not survive it.

Considering his drinking . . . and how hatefully he stares at me now.

I don’t trust him not to hurt me.

He seems to deflate, though his gaze is still full of disappointment and anger. “You’ve changed, Gigi. I don’t even recognize you anymore,” he whispers, giving me a once-over as if I’m an otherworldly being.

“I’m the result of your betrayal,” I respond calmly. His brows jump in surprise, then lower in anger.

“How long will you make me suffer for a mistake?”

“A mistake? A. Mistake? Try several mistakes, John!” I shout, baffled by his nerve. I hold up a hand and count off each point. “You gambled away our entire life savings. You nearly made us homeless—our daughter homeless. You come home drunk nearly every night. You slept with me once thinking I was another woman. And then last time, you forced yourself on me!”

By the time I’m finished, I’m heaving with rage. “Not to mention all the times you’ve disrespected me and treated me like I’m below you. I thought you were better than that, Johnathan. You always said we were equals.”

“Well, we’re not!” he roars, causing me to wince. His face reddens, and he takes a menacing step toward me. “We’re not equals, Genevieve. I am the husband who goes to work five days a week for ten hours straight. You have no idea what I deal with there—the amount of stress I’m under. Not to mention the war going on. I have friends fighting right now, and I’ve no idea if I’m ever going to see them again! Then I come home, and I have to be a husband and a father. I have to make you two happy, buy whatever you two ask for, hear about your days, and make sure the both of you feel loved.”

I stare at him, utterly flabbergasted that he could diminish me so deeply. “I do so much—”

“Ah, yes!” he exclaims sarcastically. “You clean an already clean house, and you cook! It’s wonderful, Gigi, truly. Until it’s the weekend, and I have to maintain the yard and fix a leaky faucet or hang another stupid picture on the wall. All the while, you sit in that goddamn chair, writing in your stupid journal and staring out at the trees!”

His chest heaves, the last of his words echoing throughout the house.

Fuming, I step toward him, my bottom lip trembling. “You have such a terrible life, don’t you? Your business is thriving, Johnathan. You’re successful. You were bringing home more money than you’ve seen in your life, doing a job that you love. And you’re right, there is a war going on—one that you don’t have to fight in. You sit in your cushy chair in a skyscraper office with a beautiful view. Does it get a little stressful sometimes? Sure, but that’s just called life, my dear. It’s sure as hell a lot better than getting shot at, though, huh?”

I take another step, butting my chest against his.

“If you ever wanted to spend a night sober, you could come home to a hot meal waiting for you on the table and a beautiful wife. A wife that spent the last two hours helping her daughter with homework or soothing her because she has a mean schoolmate, all the while teaching her values and skills and nourishing her developing young mind. Before that, I spend my hours washing your filthy underwear, cleaning the house, grocery shopping, and ensuring there isn’t a single chore for you to do when you get home. I’m so glad you’re used to seeing a clean house, John, but that’s not because you and Sera don’t make messes. It’s because I’m constantly picking up after the two of you before you even notice!”

He opens his mouth to respond, but I hold up a finger. “I’m not finished! Before you started drinking, you would come home after a long day of work and sit at the table to eat, and the only thing we asked you to do was listen. To have a conversation with us. To spend time with us. Is that really so much work? And I never ask you for anything except necessities for our daughter. You shove money in my hands because you expect me to look beautiful for you every day. The last time you came home to replace me without a stitch of makeup and a pretty dress, you asked me why I stopped putting effort into my appearance. You said there’s no point in having a beautiful wife if I’m not going to look like one.”

“I didn’t say that!” he denies vehemently, but the truth is in his shameful stare.

“You did!” I shout. “You said you love to look at me, and that’s why God gave me a pretty face and a smokin’ hot body. For your viewing pleasure. So, I do it, John. I get all dolled up just for you. And when we go to bed, you turn off the lights, fuck me until you’re satisfied, then roll over and go to bed! And oh-ho, please tell me the last time you fixed a single thing around this house. I ask you to spend a couple hours mowing the lawn while I garden, then you spend the rest of the day in your skivvies, drinking a beer. So, yes, John, your life is just so darn awful that it’s only fair you go off and gamble away all that hard-earned money until your family has no roof over their heads, drink until you don’t recognize your wife, and terrify your daughter with your drunken ramblings. So, you know what? If I want to spend an hour writing in my journal every day and staring out at the goddamn trees, then I will!”

I’m the one panting now, my cheeks flushed from having to defend myself to my own damn husband. His eyes close in defeat, and he turns away, hand on his hip while the other swipes over his mouth in contemplation. It’s silent for a few moments while the two of us reconcile with the fact that our marriage will never be what it used to be.

“You’re right, John,” I say quietly. “I have changed. And so have you.”

When he turns toward me again, heartbreak reflects in the downturn of his lips and the sadness in his eyes. And it hurts seeing him like this, especially when he’s not the only one who’s betrayed our marriage.

And that’s just it. We’re destroying each other.

The cold, hard truth is that he won’t stop gambling and drinking.

And I won’t stop my love affair.

“I won’t allow you to divorce me, Gigi. Not with Sera,” he states plainly.

I bristle. While there’s no malice in his tone, it feels as if he’s locked a cuff around each of our wrists, chaining us together. My instinct is to rage against those confines, but I know I can’t.

Truthfully, I already knew that was my fate. It’s frowned upon for a woman to leave a marriage, even more so when she’s a mother. The courts would refuse me the divorce, anyway. Not unless Sera and I were in grave danger, and even then it would be a battle that would cost us more than it may be worth. And despite the ways John has hurt me, he’s always treated Sera like a princess. Regardless of his recent missteps with her, their relationship is strong. It would be a lie to claim otherwise.

But would John’s selfishness tear apart this family like my selfishness could? It would destroy Sera if she found out about my affair. And while I’ve fallen in love with Ronaldo, I will do anything for my daughter. Even if it means I cannot love freely.

I nod, though I couldn’t muster a smile if I tried. A year ago, I would’ve rushed to him and cupped his cheeks between my palms while vowing we could get through anything together. I would’ve sworn that he was the love of my life, and that I would stand by him through it all.

Those promises escape me now.

“I love you, Genevieve. Do you love me?” he asks softly.

“I love you,” I whisper.

Yet it’s as hollow as the look in his eyes.

Turns out, neither of us will stop lying, either.

September 10, 1944

I haven’t seen Ronaldo in three days.

Three days of wondering where he is. If something happened to him. My thoughts spiraled.

John and I got into a fight. He says I’ve changed. That I’m no longer the woman he fell in love with. I’m distant now. When he wants to have sex, I’m not interested. It’s his own fault for that, and he knows it, too. There’s still so much guilt in his eyes, yet I can’t replace it in me to forgive him.

I’ve begun to feel like my marriage is wrong and dirty.

I’ve begun to feel like I’m cheating, but not on my husband. It feels like I’m cheating on my phantom.

There wasn’t much I could say to assure my husband I still love him other than those three words. They’ve begun to feel empty when I say them.

Based on the vacant look in his eyes, those three words have begun to feel hollow to him, too. I’m losing my husband.

Slowly but surely.

And I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t mind that too much.