The Transcendent Wife (Part I – POV of the OW)

As I walked into his study, I was hit with the exotic scent of white moss and roses, intertwined with the familiar cherry tobacco his suits always smelled of. Through the haze of the smoke, in his tall, cognac leather armchair, sat a woman with hair black and soft as the wing of a raven, in perfect ringlets around her unwavering face. Her eyes were dark under the heavy veil of her lashes, and I could almost taste her pouty red lips as they wrapped around the stem of the pipe that always sat on top of his desk. As she turned to look at me, I suddenly felt ordinary and small, though I stood at the very least five inches taller than her. As she uncrossed her strong, shapely legs and stood up, the thin, sheer silk that once rested above her knees fell to the ground, and with the ease and grace of her steps towards me, I suddenly knew, she was no longer just the wife.

She handed me a crystal glass, nearly empty except for a few amber drops and the stain of her lips around the brim. With her ivory gown, she floated around the room, pipe still in her left hand, unadorned with the sapphire she once wore so hopefully through the days when he would sneak me in this very room. Now there was no space for thoughts of him and I. Her presence invaded every inch of the room – so much so that my feet felt heavy, and I could not step past the doorway. She looked back and smiled at me. I could only stare. She pointed her head in the direction of the bronze tiered bar cart aside his desk, silently asking for me to refill her glass. When I did not move, she went to the cart herself and brought the decanter over to me, never breaking eye contact. Her small hand carefully poured the scotch into the glass I was still holding, and as her dark brown eyes met mine, my hands began to shake, and the glass crashed to the ground.

I ran to the bathroom and looked into the mirror, searching for the parts of me that he loved over hers. Suddenly the blue eyes he once stared into and called beautiful felt void of color, and all I could see as I fell to the marble floor was her small hand pouring his most favored bottle of scotch into the glass.