lord i am so tired but writing this wasn't actually that hard, it was just getting started that i was dragging my feet on
also i decided that instead of writing present-day matron, i wanted to delve into her past instead. that was purely out of interest and realising i haven't done that yet, and has nothing to do with a lack of ideas with the former timeframe. yup. nothing to do with that at all siree.
i love friday afternoons 🥳
She was certainly no trophy wife; she wasn't much younger than her husband and didn't have the ideal feminine figure, too muscular after her years of constant housework and maintaining the veggie garden. She wasn't the prettiest lady either by society's standards, but she didn't mind. After all, he made her feel like she was, and that was all she needed. She had been a working woman, too, until she lost her career to the Depression. Her son was 1-and-a-half-years-old then. It was hard, very hard, but she managed to find joy regardless of the struggles she and her new family faced.
After losing her job, she, like other newly-unemployed women, returned to being a housewife. She didn't miss work all that much. She wrote to her old co-workers, looked after her son, and soon her daughter as well, she planted the garden for when food was expensive or completely unavailable, she sewed, and she looked after the household.
At 5:30 sharp every afternoon, she stopped watching the stove briefly, carrying one child on each hip, to greet her husband as he arrived home from his work as a car repairman. Often, it was with a kiss before he took their son off her hip to tell him about his workday. Her daughter sat on the kitchen floor watching her mother cook instead.
They'd have a hot supper as a family before the children washed up and begged their father for a story. She was better at coming up with them, but she couldn't deny his talent for storytelling with such emotion in his voice. They sat by the kids' beds, with her brushing her daughter's hair out as the three of them listened closely to his exciting tales. Sometimes, there was time for a slow, candlelit dance together in the living room after the children were put to bed. They went to bed, and repeated it again the next day.
As time wore on, her children grew and grew until they themselves had married and forged families of their own. The Depression finally came to an end. The motor repair industry had only found more and more success, but her husband never worked more than a 9 to 5. His evenings were dedicated to being there for his children, spending time with his wife, and indulging in those late-night slow waltzes. That was, until the kids were no longer kids and they left the nest. He came home one night excitedly announcing a promotion at work. It meant more hours per week, but he assured her it'd be worth it. They would retire comfortably, in a cozy home, together.
So, she continued on with her usual life. She never returned to work, believing she'd never need to with her husband's new, higher salary. She didn't write to many of her old co-workers anymore, friendships having slowly faded over the years. She called her son and daughter on the telephone at least twice a week. The veggie garden was replaced with flowers and bushes that required less labour to thrive. She took up knitting, and she took care of the household. She had a lovely, hot supper on the table by 7 now, instead of 6. She soon found herself wrapping up everything spare her own portion to put in the fridge and reheat for him whenever he got home.
She missed the cheeky pecks on the cheek. She missed the dancing, the heated, passionate nights in bed and the time spent together. She missed the compliments. She missed feeling beautiful.
That was alright. She was in her later years now, her hair greying steadily. She didn't have the energy to get on her hands and knees in the garden, harvesting potatoes and beans anymore. Who was she to wish her husband paid more attention to her, when he came home exhausted every night after putting food on the table?
She never complained. She listened as he vented about his frustrations with his superiors. Whenever he'd let her, she'd massage his tense shoulders and light a cigar for him before bed. She never mentioned how much she missed waking up next to him in the mornings, only for him to lie down and rest on the sofa after work, instead of next to her.
He wouldn't be having supper with her tonight. Another important dinner with some superiors, he'd said. She made sure his shoes were polished and clean, ironed one of his best shirts, and was pulling a blue suit jacket out of the closet to iron next when she noticed a white box tucked right in the back. Some shoeboxes had formed a slight layer of dust on top, but this one was pristine, presumably recently disturbed. What was it? She couldn't remember what the box was, although she assumed her memory was just failing her these days.
She pulled it out, suit jacket discarded on the neatly made bed as she opened it to find countless letters. Some were addressed to him, the others to some woman she didn't know. Why were they hidden from view was her question. The first few seemed perfectly normal after all.
Only, they didn't stay normal. Invitations to late night rendezvous and lustful professions of attraction signed with a lipstick marks. Increasingly explicit and detailed descriptions of... of what he would do to this woman. Or what she would do to him. She became increasingly desperate for answers and disgusted by what she read.
"See you tonight." signed off by him was the last straw before she threw the box into the opposite wall, one corner leaving a hole in the wallpaper and drywall. The letters scattered across the floor. She gasped for breath through her choked tears, lowering herself onto her bed slowly.
When he opened the bedroom door opened that afternoon to get changed for his "dinner", he was met with his wife raging and crying, mascara ruined and dripping down her cheeks, and the perfectly sharpened blade of a kitchen knife.
She thought her life was perfect.
For how long had it all been in her head?
dailybridgerton
turnnoffyourmind
izzy806
titsay
