May 2000: Karen

I see you now, lying asleep next to me, and I wish with all of my being that you were him. Even in his sleep, I can tell he's appreciating me, taking me in. I can feel it in his touch, even as his grip is fading from falling into deeper slumber. He holds me as if I'll disappear into thin air if his arms are not around me. But that could just be because of me; I've given him reason enough to think that. In the beginning, for fear of getting caught, I'd slip off every time I heard a creak of the floorboards, anything bordering on footsteps. No one was supposed to know about this; no one would believe us, anyway.

Even in his sleep, he holds me and I know I'm loved. But I don't feel your arms around me now. The entire time I've been here with you, I've felt nothing resembling anything I felt with him. You told me you cared, but I don't see that at all. You told me you're happy that I'm here, but you've done nothing to actually show that. And even though I chose you, you've given me every reason in the world to regret it.

God, Stanley, how I regret it.

We had it at the start, you and I. The little you knew about my childhood, my past, led you to make the promise that you would give me everything money could buy and all the good things that it couldn't. And you delivered, for the most part. Money wasn't an issue for you, so anything I wanted on a whim I got. On that level, it was like I was a spoiled child. I just never put those pieces together before the time I spent with him. The feelings, though, those were hard for you to figure out. You had them, and I could tell sometimes that you did, but you had no idea how to communicate them to me. You thought money, material possessions, were the answer. And I didn't mind it at first. Then he came along.

And he opened my eyes to what you and I have been doing.

I could have blamed Grace; if she didn't take my advice and go after that old high school flame, it wouldn't have happened. I could have blamed Jack; if he didn't go back to that damn bar again, he could have served as a buffer. I started to blame you. If you hadn't have taken your kids to see their mother, I wouldn't have been completely free. I wouldn't have offered up the cabin. I wouldn't have been alone with him. You were gone; I didn't have any obligations. But it wouldn't be fair; I may have hurt you more than you will know, more than you may comprehend, but I would never place blame where it shouldn't go. I felt bad for him, when I heard Grace and Jack talking in her office about his failed relationship with Michael. And as a break in my reputation as the Ice Queen, I okayed this little pity party for him. Trying to take his mind off of this upcoming anniversary that will never be. They had been together for seven years; it takes time to mourn that. How was I supposed to know that this would happen?

But now that it has, in many ways it was the best thing to happen to me. And I threw it away for you.

You didn't seem to care the first few times I actually declined to accompany you on one of your business trips. I always used to go with you; you were making more money, and in turn, I got a free vacation. But your trips started to mean more uninterrupted time with him, and I couldn't turn that down. But once I stopped showing interest in flying to different parts of the world, you began to grow a little suspicious, I could tell. Did you realize that he was the reason? You wouldn't have said anything, either way. You've grown predictable.

That's what I love and hate about you.

I guess it doesn't matter anyway. You win.

I'm here in the Virgin Islands with you because he wouldn't return my calls. He wouldn't speak to me when he came to visit Grace in the office. He reverted back to the way we were before, and I hated it. And I want to blame him. But it was all me. Instead of facing it head on, instead of trying to sit him down and talk this out, I ran. I ran, like I always do. I ran from my mother, I ran from old flames. I ran from you, before agreeing to be here with you. But it ended up like it always does; my mind is filled with questions, regret, and over analysis, and I can't focus on the reasons I came here. I should be focusing on you. And instead, I'm wishing that I was back in Manhattan, in the arms of another man.

I'm so sorry, Stan.

Do you remember how we were before? How you used to touch me with so much meaning behind it? You never were an expert at verbally expressing how you felt about anything—me, especially—but your caress more than made up for it back then. Your hand at the small of my back, your kiss at the nape of my neck, the warmth of your hand over mine said everything you couldn't. And I believed it all.

But the broken promises piled up in a heap of shards on the floor, building a jagged barrier between the two of us. Maybe it was so gradual that you didn't even realize that you couldn't see me anymore. But I watched as each promise shattered and added a new layer to the growing wall. And even if I wanted to do something about it, I wouldn't have been able to; if you didn't see it, it wasn't there. If it wasn't there, it wasn't a problem. If it wasn't a problem, I shouldn't have to worry about it. If I shouldn't have to worry about it, my mind should be clear.

So why isn't it?

That answer's simple. I'm not like you; I can't ignore a problem—because we both know that's what it is, Stan; you're not that oblivious, you're not that ignorant—when I'm faced with it. I may run away from it, but I still know it's there. I'm trying to fix ours, while I've still got one with him.

Him. I haven't been able to say his name since it all ended. Why haven't I been able to? It's quick, simple, one word. But where I could say your name in my mind in his presence and not feel anything, if I said his name in my mind in your presence now, it would hurt in a way I can't explain. But at least I would be feeling something.

Will.

God, Will. The one who told me he would never hurt me. I guess in a way, he did exactly what you have done. Those damn face-saving promises getting in the way, building that barrier. Except ours happened over the course of our marriage. Will's and mine happened in one blow. All those pieces stacking up, higher and higher. It killed me to know that the reason why I ran to him turned out to be the reason I'm running from it all.

I tried, earlier, while you were sleeping. I tried to let you know that I was here with you, fully here with you, so that maybe your subconscious could absorb it and feel it in the morning. I brushed my fingers against the outline of your arm, pressed myself to your body like I used to when we first started sharing a bed. But it didn't work for me. And if it didn't work for me, I doubt it will work for you.

At least I'm trying.

Sometimes I just don't know what for.

Sometimes I think if I can just get everything out, say everything that's on my mind, I'll feel so much better. But you're still fast asleep, and I won't wake you. I just don't know how to change the way I feel.

Because I see you now, lying asleep next to me.

And I wish with all of my being that you were him.