The Ultimatum

This week’s Red Writing Hood prompt was to write a short piece - 600 words max - that begins with the words, "This was absolutely the last time" and ends with "She was wrong." If you would like to know more about Greta’s story, there are links to my other posts below.


“This was absolutely the last time I’ll wait around for you!” Greta spat the words out.

“I won’t always wait around for you,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes.

“This isn’t happening again. You swore you would be here,” Greta accused.

Unfortunately, the mirror wasn’t offended or hurt by her practice confrontation. Her shoulders sagged as she realized that her husband probably wouldn’t be as offended as she would like either. If he was worried about her reaction, he wouldn’t have missed their second “starting over” dinner.

Greta had desperately wanted to believe that James’ heartfelt speech about fixing their marriage was actually heartfelt, delivered passionately after Elisabeth’s birth, both of them in tears.

She had wanted to believe that their miscarriage had truly been their miscarriage and not just hers.

She had wanted to believe that their marriage was salvageable.

He had held both of her hands in his, twisting her thin wedding band between his fingers, and asked her to meet him for dinner at a restaurant they had frequented both during their dating days and in the early days of their marriage. She hadn’t been able to meet his eyes, embarrassed that they had come to the point that they had to be so tentative and careful with each other. Focusing on his fingers against the symbol of their vows, she had hopefully promised to meet him, thirty minutes later than he usually came home, just in case he got caught up at work.

The first night, she waited far too long at the small table. Ice melted in her glass, condensation spreading across the heavy tablecloth. Her chilled white wine was finished by the time she stood up at the table, although she had purposely sipped only the smallest tastes of Pinot Grigio.

He apologized profusely when he walked into the bedroom late that evening, knowing she was only feigning sleep under the tasteful duvet, chosen carefully with fingers entwined, dreaming of the talks they would have and the family they would build surrounding by its feathery softness.

Greta could hear the lie in his voice as he blamed one of the partners for a long-winded meeting he couldn’t escape. Tears leaked from behind her closed lids and she didn’t move until the next morning, when she agreed to give him another chance to talk about what they could do together to help her heal.

She hadn’t issued an ultimatum then, but it hung in the air between them, heavy and dark.

She had truly believed that the only ultimatum they would ever need was “’til death do us part.”

This time, she hadn’t ordered wine, and the ice cubes were still floating in her water glass when she pushed away from the table and stormed into the small bathroom, verbally hurling her pain into the mirror, imagining his eyes instead of her own looking back at her.

She willed her fingers to unclench from the edge of the porcelain pedestal sink. Spreading her fingers apart, she realized her wedding band was suddenly weightless.

When she looked back into the mirror, James’ eyes were gone, and she could see herself clearly. The face in the mirror was void of anger for the first time in months.

Without anger, she knew that she could heal.

Without anger, she knew that she could forgive James.

Without anger, she knew that they could face the future together.

She was wrong.

Today's piece is the second part of Greta's story.  The other links are numbered chronologically.
http://tiaras-and-trucks.blogspot.com/2011/05/spilled-wine.html (1)
http://tiaras-and-trucks.blogspot.com/2011/04/tears-will-fall.html (3)
http://tiaras-and-trucks.blogspot.com/2011/03/godmother.html (4)
http://tiaras-and-trucks.blogspot.com/2011/04/finding-her-rhythm.html (5)
http://tiaras-and-trucks.blogspot.com/2011/04/hear-greta-run.html  (6)