I finished the linear coat of gloss and smacked my lips together with satisfaction. I had formed the perfect Cupid’s bow.
I smiled and winked at myself in the mirror, thinking about the bare-faced person who had been looking back a mere 15 minutes ago.
I opened the catch on the windowsill. One, to let in some fresh air, and two, to listen for the familiar engine that would herald his approach. He was stringent about being on time, and I wanted to be ready.
But the minutes came and went, and still he didn’t come.
Agonisingly, they ticked by. It was a little melodramatic I know, but I was literally watching the second hand. ‘Round and ’round it went. Each rotation a slap to the face, until finally, I conceded.
He wasn’t coming.
I pummelled my fists against the table, unable to harbour my frustration and disappointment any longer.
Crestfallen, I began to wipe away the face, I had been so pleased with. My reflection gave me the silent treatment. There was no need to put into words what my heart already knew.
He was never going to leave his wife.
By Sarah ©2019