“Have I ever really wanted to know the depths of him,” Marta thought as she finished packing her suitcase, filling it with a random assortment of clothes and colored scarves. Marta had loved him for a year now and in her view that was a long time. It was now time to leave.
A month ago at a dinner party, he sat next to her, his hand pulling at her thigh. While the attention of the group had been directed toward someone’s travel pictures, he asked her in a concentrated whisper if she had something to tell him. She didn’t think so but his question made her wonder if perhaps she did.
“You can be honest with me,” he continued, looking her directly in the eyes, his gaze a piercing arrow of worry. Honesty. Marta sat back in her chair feeling the hard wooden frame press into her spine. Her eyes darted around the room uncomfortably searching for something to draw her attention away. A bright red designer coffee pot smooth and efficient sat proudly on the kitchen counter to her left. On the sofa’s arm, a cat rested to her right. A gilded-framed mirror directly in front of her. Above her, a slowly turning fan.