A/N: Thank you all so much for your thoughts so far - as always they mean a lot! I'm whizzing through the updates at the moment so I'll try and keep up the speed!
CHAPTER THREE: THE LAST STRAW
A night spent in the governess's bedroom turned into a week, and a week into a fortnight - until Georg felt as alone in his marital bed as he had done in the months following Agathe's passing. He waited patiently for the amorous and frenzied reunion that so often proceeded these fights of theirs - on occasion Maria would come to him, urgently sealing her lips to his without a word passing between them, all harsh words apparently forgotten; other times he would go to her, offering a heartfelt apology before finding himself desperately tangled somewhere between his wife's long legs and the bedsheets. This time however, no such reconciliation came.
Thoughts of such things only served to leave him aroused and frustrated - but a lack of physical intimacy with the woman he loved was the least of his current worries. Since their argument, Maria had barely looked at him. During the day, she busied herself with the children while he continued to squirrel himself away for the sake of his work. Of course, they concealed their differences in polite company, but he suspected the older children were beginning to cotton on to the fact that their parents bid each other a stiff goodnight at the top of the stairs and headed in opposite directions every evening.
He wasn't particularly alarmed however. They would eventually move past it, he knew. They always did. It was simply a matter of who out of the two of them would be willing to swallow their pride first. The problem with that though, was that he'd married a woman whose stubborn streak more than matched his own. Oftentimes he admired her unwavering wilfulness, even found some fiendish delight in the cat and mouse game they would play until they eventually kissed and made up. But there was no doubt in his mind that she was really making him work for it this time.
Well, he'd be damned if he was going to be the one to extend the olive branch! Once or twice he had actually considered seeking her out, apologising for his vicious words and promising to find some kind of compromise that would work for both of them. But then the memory of their argument would push itself to the forefront of his mind, her accusations would ring tauntingly in his ears, and anger would bubble and stew and churn in his gut until he'd not only talked himself out of it, but had actively sworn to himself that an apology would never leave his lips again.
No, he hadn't deserved her accusations and he had nothing to apologise for, of that he was certain. She could play this little game almost as well as he could, to be sure - but she would see sense soon enough. And until then, he would keep her waiting.
Sure enough, his patience eventually paid off. Some time after dinner on an otherwise normal Wednesday evening, he was interrupted in his musings by a gentle knock on the study door. Grunting permission for entry, he heard the creak of the wood and glanced up to find his wife poking her head through the doorway.
"Ah, Maria," he greeted smugly, knowing exactly what was to come and feeling a surge of victory at her imminent surrender. Finally, she'd seen the error of her ways and had come to set things right. It was about damn time!
"Can I come in?" She asked quietly.
"Of course!" He gestured jovially to one of the seats opposite his desk and tried hard to hide the triumphant smirk that was playing at his lips.
"I think I'll stay standing, thank you," she replied, edging into the centre of the room.
"As you wish," he shrugged nonchalantly, tidying his papers away with the complacent emphasis of a victor, "Was there something you wanted?"
Any minute now she would wave her white flag and within the hour they'd be locked in a fierce embrace, he knew. In truth, he could hardly wait. Their game had gone on long enough now and, quite simply, he'd missed her.
She said nothing for a long while, shifting from foot to foot and refusing to meet his eye. Knitting his fingers together atop the desk, he waited patiently for her to speak, watching her squirm and delighting in how adorable she looked when trying to muster up an apology. He'd let her sweat just a little longer, he decided - and then he too would make amends for the harsh words they'd exchanged, for the terrible things he'd said in anger, things he certainly didn't mean.
When she finally spoke however, his wife's voice was that of a stranger's.
"Georg.." she bleated, throat working furiously, "I want a divorce."
In the crushing silence that followed, the smirk fell from his face and his heart simply stopped beating. Oxygen was sucked from the room like matter in the vast nothingness of a vacuum.
"What?" He managed to rasp out through the collapse of his windpipe.
Her lungs rattled from the effort of sucking in a shuddering breath, "I... I want a divorce."
He stared at her, dumbstruck. She was joking. She had to be joking. It was nothing but a cruel twist in their obstinate battle of wills, a previously undiscovered trump card that she was using to up the anti. For some unfathomable reason though, she wasn't laughing - in fact she looked very much as though she was trying to hold back tears. Pity. It was pity he could detect in the pained expression that distorted her face. And the realisation sent a wave of panic blooming like a wildfire across his stomach, kickstarting his heart again and sending it slamming against his ribs.
"Divorce?"
Saying nothing, she could only nod at the carpet, hands clutched together in front of her skirts to stop them from shaking, clearly too ashamed to even look him in the eye.
"But.. " he scrambled desperately to make sense of it all as the world lurched sickeningly on its axis, "your faith.."
"Yes, I know," she squeaked hurriedly, the words tumbling out of her mouth one after the other, "I know the Catholic Church doesn't allow for divorce. But when the Anschluss comes, things will be different. The church will have little say. It will be easier then, whether we like it or not."
"Easier?" He blanched incredulously, suddenly seeing red at the mention of the Anschluss, "easier?!"
"To divorce, I mean."
Who was this woman? Where was his Fraulein? Where were her principles? He wanted to scream at this imposter. To grab her and shake her and make her regret ever breathing a word about the Anschluss or the future of their marriage. He wanted to be angry, furious with her for the bombshell she had just dropped upon their safe haven. But all he could muster was a strangled 'why?'
Again she said nothing, while an eternity seemed to crawl past them. Desperately, he searched her face for any sign of truth, his mouth agape, sweat gathering like mountain dew on his brow - but he could find no sign of comfort.
"Don't you love me anymore?" He choked, hating himself for the unshed tears that burned at the back of his throat, distorting his voice to a vulnerable and unrecognisable pitch. Her head shot up at the broken sound, pleading with him to spare them both the turmoil.
"Georg, I-"
"At least have the decency to look me in the eye," he challenged, "and speak the words aloud to me."
"We want different things-" she began feebly, shaking her head in hopelessness.
"I want you," was his simple retort, "just you."
"Georg, please..." her tears fell freely now, "please don't."
"Don't?!" He spat, despair and resentment clashing like lightning forking the sky, "it should be me saying such things to you! Don't be so cold! Don't be so cruel! Don't be so selfish! Don't tear this family apart-"
"You tore this family apart!" she cried, "you!"
"What was my sin!" He boomed now, looming large over his desk, "wanting to protect my country? I have been loyal to you! Faithful to you! Good to you-"
"You are not the man I married," she replied quietly, "The man I believed you to be. You are the man I met on my very first day here, when those ballroom doors flew open. Whistles. Orders. No more music. No more laughing."
"We're living in dark times!" He defended sharply.
"No," she retaliated, "You are! I cannot take it anymore, this shadow you've brought over our roof, over us. And it's only going to get worse. The future is uncertain, I know - but we have to go on living!"
He was beside himself with shock, confusion, despair.
"None of this makes any sense!" he grappled for control, "Whatever happened to 'until death do us part'?"
"Exactly," she whispered, "I won't - I can't watch you walk away from this family and die for a madman. And I know you will, if it means saving this country. At the expense of all else."
"And what about our children, Maria!" he snarled, "How do you propose we explain this to our children?!"
"I thought they were your children..." she accused, her voice laced with hurt. Well, he more than deserved the barb - but it only served to infuriate him further now that his previous words were coming back to bite him.
"We are not getting a divorce," he shouted, "I forbid it!"
"Then I will leave," she replied calmly.
"Leave?! And where will you go!"
"The Reverend Mother will help me get back on my feet-"
"Ah yes," he growled sarcastically, "of course, the Reverend Mother! It's what you do best isn't it, running away to that blasted abbey when things get just a little rough! Well I can tell you now, you're not going anywhere!"
The wilful defiance he knew and loved in this woman was instantly visible on her face.
"You want to hold me here against my will?" She challenged, "To trap me here in misery?"
"Misery?" he whispered, stunned. Misery? How could he have misread the situation so badly. Had he been so wrapped up in his own sense of purpose that he'd failed to see what was happening under his very nose? That his wife was living beside him in misery? He'd known things were strained, that they hadn't exactly seen eye to eye in the last few months - but never could he have envisaged that this would be the result.
"You cannot force me," she bleated, chin lifted in false bravado, "I am not one of your cadets, captain."
"No, that's right," he croaked softly, "you're not." In a fraction of a second he'd crossed the room, taking her face gently in his hands even while she struggled in vain against him, dainty hands pushing at his chest, "you're my wife," the words broke in his throat as he stroked the fringe from her brow and fought the quiver in his lower lip, "To have and to hold. To cherish. To have more babies with. To grow old with-"
Her tears slid like icy raindrops under his thumbs as she closed her eyes, shaking her head helplessly between his palms, "I'm sorry, Georg..."
"Nothing is more important to me than my family!" he said fiercely, his eyes piercing hers, "Nothing. I swear it! Perhaps I got carried away with the British, but we can-"
"It's too late Georg."
Refusing to give up, refusing to believe the madness he was hearing, he pressed his forehead against hers, the warmth of her gentle sobs grazing his cheek, "Maria please," he wept, "Don't do this. I know you love me, I know it!"
The words that followed drained all the remaining life out of his body.
"I did once. But I don't anymore."
His arms dropped like deadweights to his sides. His lungs choked for air. Until now, she hadn't said the words aloud - words that were so simple and yet so devastating in their meaning. I don't love you anymore. It wasn't something he ever thought he'd hear from her lips - such beautiful, pure, joyous, songful lips. Oh how he would pine for them - her lips, her face, her freckles, her fingers, her toes, her golden hair, her silken voice. Her heart - her good, kind, wholesome heart. Her mind. Her soul. At one point he would've fought the whole world for her. But if the woman he loved no longer loved him in return, what was there left to fight for? He wouldn't - he couldn't - force the affections of a woman who refused to have him.
Devastation meshed painfully with acceptance, like the charred debris left behind after a fatal collision. Reeling, he took an unsteady stumble backwards. Away from her. Away from them.
"I'll go to the Bristol for a few days," he offered gruffly, dashing the tears angrily from his face and straightening his tie over the lump in his throat, "I'll give you the space you need. Until we figure out how we..." he trailed off, gesturing hopelessly between them.
"Thank you," she breathed, her face a pale, tear-stained mask, "if the children ask-"
"They won't." He replied stiffly, and he knew it in his heart to be true. He'd spent so much time locked away from them lately that they probably wouldn't even notice his absence. He only had himself to blame.
The silence that engulfed them was deafening, interminable, crushing.
"When the Lord closes a door," she eventually whispered, "somewhere He opens a window."
With an incredulous snort, Georg cast her a desperate look. How could this woman - who he loved so well, respected so well - how could she bring herself to talk of faith and divorce all within the same breath?
"The Lord?" He echoed, shaking his head in utter despair, "The Lord has surely abandoned us all."
A/N: I know it all seems a little out of character at the moment - would Georg really push his family away to this extent? Would Maria (a catholic) really ask for a divorce, just like that? Stay tuned!
Historical note: in Austria, the Catholic Church opposed divorce, but the Anschluss and Nazi hostility towards Catholicism weakened this prohibition. Reich Marriage Law in Austria made divorce easier, undermining Catholic authority over family life. Divorce, in fact, was promoted as desirable since it meant that people could form new, racially-approved partnerships. The divorce rate soared, and remarriage and the subsequent birth rate rose. I'm relying (very loosely!) on these facts to make this chapter possible - so please do excuse the creative licence to bend history!