August 2017

Mary gazed out of the window, wineglass in one hand. Briar and Hazel were playing with a ball across the road. They caught her staring and waved. Mary answered with a smile and a wave. She worried, sometimes, about those girls. Their dad had a good heart, but those girls were pretty competitive when it came to their sports. Family bonding was one thing, but she'd hate to see those girls resenting their father for pushing them into something they didn't want...

The front door opened, and Joseph walked in.

...Or maybe she was projecting.

"What, no 'honey I'm home'?" Mary turned away from the window. Joseph stood in front of her looking equal parts rumpled and guilty, which is to say, not guilty enough. His jaw was set, but his hands were already held up placatingly. So he wasn't going to make this easy, then.

"How are the children?" He asked.

Mary raised an eyebrow. She was getting good at that, these days. "Fine. We went to the park - they had fun." ' They missed you ' went unsaid. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"I'm glad," Joseph said, "I was worried."

"Not too worried, I'm sure," Mary replied. She took a sip of her wine. It was empty, now. Damn. She had a feeling she'd need it later.

Joseph sighed. "Mary, I take them of them all day. It was one night-"

"And who's fault was that? Who decided that I wasn't fit to look after my children, Joseph?"

He was angry now, the lines of his body sharpening. He gestured to her empty glass. "If you're not drunk you're hungover. Of course you can't look after-"

"How dare you? This" -she slammed her glass on the windowsill a little harder than she'd meant to- "only started after you decided I wasn't good enough."

"That's a lie and you know it! Or are you too drunk too remember how we met?" He was coming closer, now. A twinge of fear spread through her body. She pushed it down. Let him , a vile part of her screamed, let him hurt you. See who the courts side with.

She pushed that down, too.

"Do you?" she scoffed, moving closer, too. Their voices were dangerously loud. God, he must hate this. His perfect little family, being pulled apart. It soothed the ache in her chest at the thought of her children, her babies, hearing them. "You're shouting at me because of alcohol, like you haven't done so much worse!"

"Not since we had children! Sometimes I just-" and several things happened in very quick succession. Joseph raised his arms to his head in frustration, pulling at his hair.

Mary flinched.

It's an odd feeling, when the fight is just pulled out of you all at once. Joseph's eyes closed, opened, and he made an abortive gesture towards Mary, like he wanted to hold her but wasn't sure if he was allowed. Mary, on other hand, just closed her eyes. She kept them closed, even as Joseph finally reached for her and pulled her closer. Even as she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.

"You know I'd never... physically hurt you," he said. "I'm sorry."

She was never sure what he was apologising for. Sorry for scaring her, someone he'd sworn he loved, or sorry for everything else? Sometimes he'd do something innocuous, like knocking over a glass, and he'd apologise with such sorrow in his eyes she'd have the look away. Even now, she didn't care to ask.

Maybe that was their problem. Neither of them cared anymore. They pushed through their lived, her flirting and drinking and crying and now him, seducing their neighbours. They kept it together in front of their children, then broke apart behind thin curtains. She wondered if he was going to ask for a divorce, this time. She'd seem him consider it with Robert. Even if they'd only slept together once, (and she was sure of that. Robert had nothing to gain from lying to her.) they'd always had something. A chemistry so thick and tangible she could taste it when they were together.

(She remembered, vividly, fucking Joseph the night after he'd been with Robert. She'd known, of course, what had happened. Joseph's guilt was written on his face and Robert had been missing at Jim and Kim's that night.

Joseph had his head pressed to her neck, fucking into her. Her skirt was hiked up to her hips, and his slacks were pulled halfway down his thighs. Joseph had always been rough, and Mary had always loved it, but there was something suspicious about his timing and the way he covered his eyes.

"Look at me," she'd gasped, grabbing his chin and wrenching his head up. "Did you fuck him like this?" She wasn't entirely sure why she asked.

He pulled out of her grip and bit at her neck, muffling his moan. Mary tried not to question if her moan was in response to him or at the thought of Robert in bed with them.)

Mary opened her eyes and looked up at Joseph. "Were you going to ask me?"

"Ask you what?" Joseph said, like he didn't know.

"For a divorce." His arms tightened around her.

"I love you," he said, as if it was an answer.

"I love you too," she whispered. Maybe it was wrong, that she was so willing to give up so quickly. Maybe she should have pushed harder. But Mary wasn't an idiot. What he'd had with this guy wasn't the same as what he had with Robert. It wasn't an attempt at a one night stand, it was a slow and careful seduction. Distantly, Mary wondered if Joseph really loved him, or if he was just a stand in for what he'd denied himself with Robert, now that Mary was giving him more excuses. She guessed it was the latter, but she wasn't as good at knowing what her husband was thinking as she used to be.

Either way, he was caught between his love of his family and fear of tearing them apart, and the remnants of whatever feelings he had for Robert. One day they'd fall apart. They'd argue and say things they just couldn't bring themselves to forgive.

But, Mary thought, clutching Joseph in her arms, not today.

A/N:- These chararcters and their toxic relationship won't leave me alone.

Just in case it's not clear, Joseph has never physically hurt Mary (without her consent) and never will in my fics.

Again, this was written very late with no beta, so I absolutely welcome any constructive criticism on my spelling and grammar, or the story itself.