By Eva Rivers
“… and don’t forget, I love you,” she says.
We’ve been making love one last time before she goes on holiday. Suitcase packed. Tank full. Husband’s driving.
I wish we could go away together. Somewhere safe. And not always be looking over our shoulders.
She dresses just as seductively as she undresses.
“Don’t forget,” she says with a quick consoling kiss. And she leaves.
I love you, she said. Not, you’re the one I love. Or, it’s only you I love.
Does that mean she loves him as well as me? Is that why I need to be consoled?