As Lydia gazed out from her beach hut she saw the sky get gradually lighter. It faded from an indigo sky to a resplendent array of colours. The clouds were a combination of pink and orange which heralded the coming of the sun, still just beneath the horizon.
Then the Sun emerged and the sea and sky were bathed with is glorious light. The sight was truly enthralling. For anyone else, it would Inspire them, but Lydia was troubled deeply by a problem she felt unable to surmount.
Turning back to the beach hut, she saw her new husband lying on the bed, face down and snoring his head off. It was their honeymoon but she already realised something; She’d married the wrong man.
Why that revelation had come so late, she couldn’t say. It made her feel so foolish.
He had appeared so charming and amusing. She had discovered only last night that it had all been a façade. He was incapable of loving anything or anyone. He was cold and ruthless. Someone who saw what he wanted and took it without thinking or caring about the consequences.
She had been engaged to be married when she’d met him. He had swept her off her feet. Bombarding her with presents. A gold Rolex watch, a night at the opera, a weekend in Monte Carlo. Stephen couldn’t have provided her with those things, he was just a Junior in the City and Daniel had been his boss.
Last night he’d admitted that he had deliberately set out to take her away from Stephen. He found her attractive, but it was because he’d felt threatened by Stephen and wanted to demoralise him totally. How better than to take away the woman that he loved?
The cold-bloodedness of it had chilled her to her very marrow. She couldn’t comprehend how anyone could think like that; behave like that. It made her feel so stupid that she had fallen for his act.
Then, while she was still reeling from his revelation, he had expected her to perform her ‘wifely duties’ like she was a new toy he had purchased. She had refused to cooperate but he had insisted on exacting his conjugal rights.
As he snored, she gazed at the razor on the floor. The salt from the sea stang the slight nick in her neck he’d made with that razor as he’d held her down. The sting was nothing compared to the agony inside. She looked at the razor longingly. So easy to slice a vein and end this torment.
Suddenly she realised that her husband’s snoring had stopped. Breathing heavily, she looked at him, was he awake already? No, his eyes were closed. She heaved a sigh of relief, but then realised that all was not right. His chest no longer rose and fell. The colour in his cheeks was wrong. Then she smelt the vomit that told her he had choked on it. She rolled him on to his back. This monster that had filled her with so much pain, that had made her consider suicide only moments before, she paused but for a moment and then did what any normal human being would do. She ran to get help.
Was it wrong for her to hope, despite doing the right thing, she’d be too late?
Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 26/September/2018