the idea of being in a marriage with a busy man, out of the house most of the hours, business trips often and long, every minute of his day scheduled for something, something useful. there was love once, you think, maybe years ago, maybe it would still there if he wasn't too busy for you.
of course, his time spent out of the house funds your life, keeps the house running, keeps you entertained. but never entirely fulfilled like you were when it was puppy love.
you want something to do with yourself, an extension on the house surely enough to keep your mind off missing your husband for a while, getting to choose paint colours, furniture, architecture styles, how you wanted the skirting to look, or what the new rooms will be, maybe a home office to convince your husband to stay with you a little more.
although, those thoughts slip out of your mind at a speed you didn't even think possible when you meet eyes with your builder, introducing himself to you with a firm handshake, his hands hard from years of work, fingers thick and forearms tanned from years working under the sun.
you almost forget you have a husband when you watch him work, biceps flexing as he moves, his throat bobbing when he drinks the ice cold water you bring him, forget about the weight of your ring on your finger when he's standing so close to you, asking what you think of his work so far.
