Though she sometimes missed New York, the thought
or returning held little appeal. There her friends were all wives
of the other International Foods executives, and out here,
regardless of all she had heard about the nice people in
California, the women were still the same, robots who yessed
their husbands at social occasions and dinner parties, while
behind their backs they, and their husbands, engaged in
extramarital affairs.
That wasn't how Greta wanted to end up living her life. But would
she?
She finished her wine and set the glass on the counter - a little
too firmly. The crystal base shattered into little bits with a
high resonating tinkle, yet the bowl of the glass remained intact
in her hand.
"Shit," she cried, the sound breaking a dam in her, releasing a
flood of tears. She tossed the unbroken half into the sink, which
echoed the same tinkling sounds, even louder this time. She held
her breath, wondering if he had heard, wondering if would come to
see if she had injured herself. She waited, holding on to this
fragile hope with all of her breath.
If he had heard, he wasn't letting her know. She let out a great
sigh. Jesus, was that her life with Matthew? Shattered, broken
beyond repair? It was too much to consider at this moment. She
needed to get out of the house for a little while, to go for a
walk in the pretty night and clear her head.
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