Posted on | August 7, 2017 | 2 Comments

With several looped around each hand, the grocery bags leave red circles against my wrists.

“Darling,” he shook his head, “I can help with that.”

I shrug, weighed down but smiling.

“It’s no problem,” I smile, keeping my eyes averted so he won’t see the truth. “I can get it.”

The bags pile up on the table, load after load. Slowly, I unpack them, placing items one by one into nooks and crannies. Saving them to pull out later. Saving them to wave in his face with a flourish of “look what all I do for  you.”

I rub the circles into my skin, letting the marks remind me of my troubles, feeling the pain of plastic soak deep into my soul. Rings weighted with more than just groceries. Scars from a marriage prior, scars from so many broken things.

We argue later, voices raised, as I let his calm spiral and swoop around my Irish temper. I’ve been itching for a fight. I know it. He knows it. The faded rings on my wrists still there, where only I can see them.

The distance between us gets wider and wider, a chasm of silence as he slides into the bed beside me.

“I love you,” I want to say to this man who sighs with frustration yet love over my moods and baggage. I think about reaching out a hand, just to cross the distance, just to tell him without apologizing that I’m sorry.

I think too long. I always think too long.

His breathing deepens into a slight snore and I draw in a ragged breath. I waited too long to move or speak. The distance between us is so wide that I wonder if he’ll ever forgive me for the things I say, the bags I let pile up around us, the little odds and ends that I’ve hidden in the darkest corners of our lives.

I whisper an apology he won’t hear, an “I love you” he already knows despite this hole I’ve dug and filled with my insecurities.

I think for a moment that I will cry, that I will heave with sadness for the things I put him through, for the inevitable day when it’s too much and he packs his own bags to walk away.

And then with the slightest of movements, he reaches out a hand, fingers twining with my own. The pressure is slight but enough.

“I love you,” he says, without saying a word.

I love you, too.


2 Responses to “Marriage”

  1. Michelle
    August 7th, 2017 @ 9:03 am

    I have lived this, so often in the earliest days of my relationship and now 6 years in, I’m rarely feeling those ghosts come out and there is almost always a light when the dark wants to grab hold. You wrote these feeling beautifully and know you are not alone.

  2. Law Momma
    August 7th, 2017 @ 4:38 pm

    I think we all go through it at one point or another. Or at least, I like to think that I’m not alone! 🙂

Leave a Reply

  • Creative Commons License
    Spilled Milk (and Other Atrocities) by Law Momma is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
    Based on a work at
  • Twitter

  • Enter your email address:

    Delivered by FeedBurner


  • Grab my button for your blog!