She knows how he sees her. She sees it in his eyes every time she looks at him. That dismissive way he seems to look right through her.
She sees herself the same way. The wrinkles around the corners of her eyes. The drooping at the corners of her mouth. Her hair, her glorious mane of hair, dull now due to the effort to hide the gray.
She doesn’t know why he is apologizing. It’s her fault, she must not have tried her best. It takes all her self control to walk around him as he kneels on the floor pleading with her. How she hates him in that moment. No, how she hates herself in that moment. That very moment when she realizes that he knows, he has always know, it would come to this. Didn’t he set the wheels in motion with his quiet disdain?
An utter calm and sense of peace overcomes her when she walks out into the fresh air and warmth of the day. How easy it would be to keep walking and just not turn around.
She opened the mailbox and carefully reached her hand in, “Finally..”