It was nearly six pm now, she had looked at her watch four times in the last ten minutes, knowing that she had to leave on the dot. She was meeting him at six twenty at a place not very far from here. It was the usual place, the safe place, the familiar dark place, the familiar happy place. They usually met at this quiet little bar down the corner, halfway from both their offices. It was a safe place, since no one she knew ever really went there. The only familiar face was the owner of the bar, he knew them well and could tell they came there to hide. How strange these past two years had been, the lying, the sneaking around and the tense moments when she thought she had been discovered. But in these two years there was also the excitement, the intrigue and the passion that he brought to her life. She waited every month for the last week, which was when he would visit and she would lose herself. This man was drawn to her and became even more interested when he found out she was not available. He was everything that she longed for, everything that she no longer had with her partner. The only thing she shared with her partner was the roof they lived under, he was away every three or four days on business trips and even if he was in town, he would invariably be working late. She was longing to fill that void of desperate loneliness and unfulfillment that characterised her marriage for the past three years.
Five years ago, his career took a turn for the better, and he allowed work to engulf his entire life. Working late was the norm and he usually preferred to miss the odd social obligation and usually cancelled on plans with her at the last minute. Something always came up at work and it was her, he knew she would understand. It wasn't until the day he stumbled upon an email she had written, that he realised how far she had actually drifted. It was the most wonderful letter, filled with love, anticipation and passion - but it wasn't addressed to him. Life was not waiting for him like he thought it would. He thought about confronting her on many occasions and it was now six months since the day of that letter. On the last week of every month he knew she would be working late, sometimes even until the wee hours. While he always pretended to be asleep when she returned, he never really got much sleep at all during those weeks. Asking her though, meant having to hear her say it and he feared nothing more than hearing it from her. But how long would he keep the silence?
And how long would she play this game?
