Love: A Matter of Conscience

When a ferocious storm tore through our town, Frank Turner risked his life to save me from being swept off our balcony's edge.

Grateful, I finally said yes to his relentless marriage proposals.

From then on, he treated me like royalty, fussing over every sniffle.

To the world, he was the gold standard of devotion. But two years into our marriage, his warmth faded.

When crippling stomach pain left me doubled over, he brushed it off, claiming work demanded his night.

I went to find him, only to catch him in a steamed-up car with a girl, both stripped bare.

My fairy-tale marriage shattered like glass.

Turning around, I booked a flight and left the country.

Frank tore the city apart looking for me, but it was too late.

One night, my stomach condition flared up.

Frank Turner, my loving husband, promised to swing by the pharmacy for my meds.

Soon after, he called. "My boss just sprung overtime on me. I sent the pills up in the elevator. Take them, alright? I'll be back soon. Love you."

I hated the dark, so no matter how late his shifts ran, Frank used to race home, saying the thought of me shivering alone in bed gnawed at him.

Now he hung up with a reluctant sigh, and I believed him.

Unexpectedly, his "overtime" was a steamy hookup with a college girl in his car. In the backseat, they sweated buckets and panted hard.

She asked, "Do you love me, Frank?"

He chuckled, "If I didn't, would I be here this late? Gotta punish you for doubting me."

They dove into another round, oblivious to the world.

After a while, Frank got out, slid into the driver's seat, and drove off.

I watched it all in silence, and minutes later, my phone rang.

"Babe, feeling better now?" he asked. "If not, I'll swing back and take you to the hospital."

I stared at his taillights disappearing into the night, a storm churning inside me.

"Much better," I lied.

Rustling then came through the line. He shushed the girl and explained smoothly, "Just my coworker's kid. Little brat is climbing all over me."

His lie was blatant, and I thought of our wedding day.

His vows rang in my ears. He swore he'd never lie to me, always respect me, and love me forever.

Now those words were ash.

Tears stung my cheeks as I whispered, "When are you coming home? I can't sleep without you rubbing my stomach."

"Sorry, babe, it's a madhouse here," he said, rushed. "There's warm milk in the oven. Drink it and rest up."

The line went dead, and my heart sank.

A gust of wind swept the dress, dragging me back to that storm years ago when he risked everything to save me.

When I asked him why, he said that he'd follow me into life or death. Touched, I swore I'd forgive him for anything except betrayal.

Now everything had changed.

I watched the speck in the distance, late for buses, so I huddled in a 24-hour convenience store.

At dawn, I dragged myself home and booked a flight abroad.

Our second anniversary loomed, but Frank didn't come home all night, a first in our marriage.

At noon, his kiss woke me, and I caught a familiar perfume. I frowned, remembering it was the one I'd bought for Lila Fox.

Lila was a student we'd sponsored and the same girl in his car last night.