Seven

She is not picking my calls. Straight to voicemail. Fuck my life. Enzo stops the car a few miles from the gate on my instruction. I haven’t told a lie in a long time but my fingers swipe across the screen and I do exactly what I have sworn never to do. I lie. I lie using my kids so my wife can reply me and she does. 

El: The girls are fine. I just got off the phone with their class teacher, what do you want?

That stings. I stare at the text, hurt. The brusqueness of it all, her dismissal like her world didn’t revolve around me once and my heart squeezes painfully I have to place a hand on my chest. But what right do I have to complain when I shamed her minutes ago? Don’t put your lips on my kids? What I was thinking. They are our kids, she has done a great job of raising them and should be rewarded with praises instead. 

It’s partially her fault. She provoked me into blurting out those words. There were kids in the house and all she cared about was