Love Hurts by Brenda Grate Page B

long as she was there to care for him.
     
    “You’re still up?”
     
    Rob’s voice brought Anna out of her memories. He stood outside the kitchen, neatly dressed and ready for work. She glanced at the clock on the stove.
     
    “Why are you going to work so early?” Early morning meeting with your girlfriend?
     
    “I have a client coming in from out of town,” Rob snapped as though she didn’t have the right to question him. “What’s wrong with you?” Rob’s mouth turned down. How had she not seen how ugly he’d become?
     
    “I’m fine.” Anna took a step back and turned toward the island counter. She pressed both palms onto the top and dropped her head. Weariness swept over her so fast, she felt dizzy. “I’m tired. I was at the hospital all night with Jilly.”
     
    “What happened?”
     
    “I’ll tell you about it later. I’m going to bed.”
     
    “Okay, I’ll talk to you after work then. What are we having for dinner?”
     
    Anna pushed away from the counter. She walked out of the kitchen without saying a word to Rob. She knew he wouldn’t come after her and demand an answer. What she’d told Jilly a few hours ago came back with perfect clarity. Their marriage was over. She knew it; Rob knew it. He hung on to keep up appearances, but wasn’t willing to do anything to make it better. She hated him for it, but she hated herself more for letting him treat her like a stick of furniture. Was there anything sadder than a woman who allowed a man that kind of power?
     
    Anna went into her office, closed and locked the door behind her. She needed to get everything out before her body would relax enough to fall asleep. She sat down at her desk, pulled her journal forward and picked up her pen.
     
    Her thoughts were in such disarray that she found it difficult to grab a hold of one long enough to make it coherent. She struggled for a few seconds then dropped the pen, resisting the urge to fling it across the room. Where had this anger come from?
     
    Anna leaned back in her chair and stuffed the anger back down. She took deep breaths and focused on the large portrait of Matthew, hanging over the fireplace, her favorite focal point of the room. They’d gotten him to sit still enough for the artist to capture his essence in oils—a not so minor miracle at two years old. Anna had paid dear for the painting, but as she looked at it for the hundredth time, she knew it was worth every penny. She would never have a child of her own, so Matthew had taken on the role of most important person in her life. She admitted freely that she indulged him, something Jilly complained about forcefully and often, but Anna didn’t care. He would grow up far too soon and wouldn’t need his auntie anymore. What would she do then?
     
    Anna picked up the pen again. Thinking about Matthew often gave her clarity, and so her thoughts calmed from a whirlpool into a mere torrent.
     
    I’m going to ask Rob for a divorce. I can’t be around him for another minute. Now that I’m sure he’s cheating on me, I wonder how I didn’t realize it long before. I guess like with so much of my life, I’ve ignored all the signs. I’ve been living in a bubble and it’s time to pop it and get on with real life, even if it’s painful.
     
    With that decided Anna turned her thoughts to Jilly and all they’d talked about through the night.
     
    My sister cut herself again. She hasn’t done it in a long time, but Mamma’s painting must have pushed her to that place again. I’ve never understood it. Why would giving yourself pain make the rest of the pain in your life go away. I guess it’s the same principle of stomping on your foot to take your attention off the pain in the thumb you’ve just smashed with a hammer.
     
    Anna dropped the pen again and pressed her face into her hands. It didn’t matter how much she tried to rationally understand it, there was no getting around the fact that her sister had big problems. Problems