February Sucks for Walter Mitty - Sex Stories

February Sucks for Walter Mitty

... signs. I had dismissed them as aberrations, when they were actually a very real part of who she was. The person I thought she was could never have done what she did to me. Ergo, the person that I thought she was... well, that wasn't the real Linda.

After a week, I was feeling a lot better. It would take a while for the bruises to fade, the scars to heal, and the splint to come off my hand, but I was able to walk around, dress myself, and almost breathe normally. By then, Linda had received my petition for divorce. Bailey hadn't heard back from her yet, but my parents had. She wanted to talk. I sent her a text setting up a meeting at my parents' place.

When she walked in wearing a blue dress--thankfully, not THAT blue dress!--I had a moment of déjà vu. I remembered the last time we were together--she in a blue dress, me in a suit, walking into Morrison's. I thought about how one night had illuminated so much of our relationship--and, in the clear light of day, how the relationship I thought we had evaporated.

Still, even when feelings are gone and hearts are broken, manners still survive. "Linda," I said. "You look good."

Linda gave me a shy smile. "You too, Jim." The lie almost sounded sincere. Her eyes scanned the stitches on my cheek, my black eyes, the splint on my hand, and she looked away. "Thank you for meeting with me."

I shrugged. "It needed to happen. We have two kids together. We need to be able to get along for them, if nothing else."

I imagined ...

... Atticus Finch. Perry Mason. Longfellow Deeds. People who had the words, the eloquence, the righteousness, to face this moment and prevail.

Nope. It had to be me. MY words. And the usual script wasn't going to cut it.

"What do you see happening here, Linda? What are you looking to get out of this little conversation?"

Linda paused for a second. I wasn't saying the lines she wanted to hear. "Jim, if I known I'd hurt, you I never--"

"Stop." I snapped. She jerked, as if I'd slapped her. "Stop with 'It didn't mean anything, it was just one night, it was only sex.' Just stop. And while we're at it, let's just skip the next part--the 'if you'd just let me have this night, if you hadn't followed me out, it's your own damned fault you got hurt.' Let's just skip right ahead to the end. What's your end game? What do you want?"

Linda wasn't used to seeing this side of me. She blinked. "I-I want you to come home," she said softly. Carefully. "I want you to be with your children."

"You can stop that, too. You don't get to play the children card or the loving wife card. While I was fighting for our family on Friday night, you were running away with the big strong jock and blowing him in the car." Her eyes went wide.Didn't think I saw that, did ya? "Congratulations, Linda. You got what you wanted. You bagged the football player and now you can brag about it to Dee and the girls. But you don't get to hide behind the kids just because you've found out that the price of your ...