My husband is a heroin addicted felon who tried to rob me on our second date.
It was love at first sight.
Melody Madison has been talking about us again. My sister has a friend who has a friend who drank too much wine last week at Melody’s lake cottage.
And they started talking about us all over.
“He slept on my couch once. He’s homeless.”
“I know things about her, but they are so terrible. I can’t say them out loud.”
My husband has three tattoos and when he says my name his face lights up. He builds me things from wood. Bookshelves and coffee tables.
“One day I’ll build you a house.”
He tried to rob me three times in total. The third time, he told me to meet him downstairs in twenty-five minutes. But he showed up in ten. Crying. He put his wedding band in my hand and crunched my fingers in a fist around it.
“I couldn’t go through with it.”
I replaced the ring. He hasn’t removed it since.
Melody has chunky black curls that bounced on her shoulders the night she kept talking.
“He smokes crack. I heard he sleeps with men too.”
When she speaks, her double chin wobbles from front to back. When the house is empty later tonight, her cupboards will follow.
“Did I mention he stole from me once?”
My husband has eyelashes that hold sleep in a way where every glance toward him becomes another dream. I told him not to worry about what Melody says.
Some people just can’t appreciate love.