Shattered Dreams Read online

  The worst thing about a delayed flight was Sydney’s stupid airport curfew. No planes could land between eleven and six, so when we found ourselves approaching Sydney at four forty-five, I was ready to scream. I was sure I could see our house. If they’d just put this damn tin can on the ground and let me off, I could be home, tucked up in my nice warm bed, legs stretched out. But no. Instead we circled for an hour before we joined the queue to touch down.

  What should have been a simple fourteen-hour flight, turned out to be a twenty-two-hour travel pain in the arse. I wanted a coffee and a shower and I wanted them yesterday. The moment the seatbelt sign turned off, I was out of my seat grabbing my crap and pushing forward.

  I cleared customs and immigration so easily I could have been forgiven that I wasn’t just moving through the checkout at the local Target. It was so easy to get through. No delays. No drama.

  The moment I stepped outside, I wished I was back in Africa again. There was a gale force, cold wind blasting down between the buildings. It was like standing in a wind tunnel. Rubbish was tossed about on the breeze and when a stray plastic bag wrapped around my ankle, I untangled it, settled my glasses over my eyes and headed towards the line of awaiting taxis. I was almost home and I was more than ready for about a month’s worth of sleep. Despite the sleeping tablet I’d taken, I was still tired and lethargic and more than a little anxious about what would happen next. Reality was not my friend at the moment. It was seriously scaring the shit out of me.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  PREVIOUS YEAR

  MAGGIE

  When the dust settled, Drew and I somehow found ourselves in what others would probably describe as an almost roommate agreement. He went his way and did what he wanted, the things that made him happy, and I stayed behind. I wasn’t exactly happy but I wasn’t a depressed, quivering mess either. While Drew stepped out trying to prove to the world, and himself in a way, that nothing was wrong, I remained silent.

  We spent time together, sitting on the lounge watching movies and crappy TV. We went shopping and to family functions. For all intents and purposes, our marriage was rock-solid. At least that was the mask we were both wearing and the lie we were telling.

  Knowing the reality of the situation was hard. Harder than anything else I’d ever faced. Even losing our baby. Pretending all was right in our world, faking it, smiling outwardly when all I wanted to do was curl up and cry was slowly but surely eating my soul.

  “How’s your dinner?” I asked, pushing my own around my plate.

  “A bit tasteless. I don’t like this… whatever it is.”

  It shouldn’t have hurt. It was a throw away comment, one I’d invited, but it was yet another thing. These days it seemed like nothing I did was ever good enough for Drew. There was fluff on his shirt after it’d been washed, dried and ironed. We were out of lemonade in the fridge – never mind we had four other options. Dinner was bland/late/cold. None of his complaints were anything major, but more and more they just beat me down.

  The worst part was I was completely isolated and alone in dealing with it. I dodged Kristie’s calls and invites out. When my parents rang, I kept the conversations short and sharp, never letting them really see what was going on and how much it was destroying me day by day. I couldn’t bear the thought of people seeing me for what I’d become. A failure. A disappointment. The shell of the person they once knew. Someone who wasn’t worth loving anymore.

  The first night Drew didn’t come home, I’d managed to restrain myself from calling and texting. I didn’t sleep a wink. It was after three when I finally gave up sitting on the couch, pretending to read my book and slipped under the covers. It felt like the end. If Drew didn’t even respect me enough to at least let me know where he was, then the end was nearer than I thought.

  It’d taken a while after our put-it-all-on-the-table, no-holding-back argument before I figured out what it was that I wanted, what I needed out of this. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was a stupid refusal to give up. Or maybe it was because I still loved him that I couldn’t let go.

  Drew had just walked in, annoyed again, and dumped his crap on the kitchen bench. “How was your day?” I asked automatically.

  We may not be the happy, hand-holding, skipping-around-in-circles couple right now, but we were still living together. Still friends. At least I thought we were. I was trying to be anyway. And friends asked their friends about their day.

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Drew…”

  “Come on, Maggie. Why are we even still pretending? We both know this is over.” He was being an arsehole. A mean arsehole. I didn’t deserve that. And I sure as shit wasn’t going to put up with it. Not anymore.

  Exhausted, drained and completely over his selfish bullshit, I snapped. “If that’s what you think, if that’s what you want, there’s the door. Just go.”

  I could feel the warm tears trailing down my cheeks but ignored them. Now wasn’t the time to break down into a babbling, bawling mess. That would come later. When I was alone and could let it go. For now, though, now I needed to stay strong and try and hold myself together. Or at the very least, try to.

  “What?”

  “If you don’t want to be here. Then just go. Please.”

  “You can’t mean that.” He looked stunned. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because looking back I’d never had a backbone and stood up for myself, or at least I’d never shown one. Everything had changed. Including me. I guess heart break would do that.

  Slumping down in the chair, I refilled my glass of wine and swatted away a stray tear. “Yeah, Drew, I do. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to. I deserve more. I deserve better.”

  “What am I supposed to do then?”

  “You need to figure that out. And you need to figure it out now. Because I can’t keep going like this. It’s not fair. Not fair on me and it’s not fair on you.”

  “Maggie…” He reached for my hand and, for the first time that I could ever remember, I pulled away. I couldn’t bear the thought of him touching me. I knew if he did, I’d crumble. My resolve would dissolve with one touch of our fingers.

  “Please, Drew. For both our sakes, make a decision. One way or another. Just make a decision and stick to it.” Feeling like I was going to vomit, I walked away, not trusting myself to look back. Not even for a second.

  Sitting upstairs on the bed, I was overwhelmed by everything that had just gone down. Somehow though, pure terror stood out. Could I actually do this? I mean, if I had to, could I start over? Alone? I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that, but that’s all I could hang on to. Hope.

  Even though I’d asked him to make a decision, demanded he made one, it didn’t seem like Drew was in any sort of hurry. Slowly, things changed. Although I wasn’t convinced it was all for the better. He started making it home for dinner almost every day. And on the days he couldn’t, he never failed to let me know. It wasn’t world changing, but it was something. While Drew was trying, I just kept going.

  I went to dinner with my parents, taking extra time to make sure I looked the part of the dutiful daughter and happy wife. Lying to my parents was not something I was excited about. Even a lie of omission was a bitter pill to swallow, but I didn’t have much choice. Telling them the truth would only hurt them and me. And more than likely piss my dad off. I was worried that if they knew what had truly been going on and what I’d been going through they wouldn’t be able to treat Drew like their long-lost son like they always had.

  The moment I stepped into the restaurant, I knew I’d made a mistake accepting their invite. “Sweetie, are you okay?” Mum asked worriedly as she wrapped me in one of those tight, warm hugs that only a mother could give.

  “Yeah, Mum. I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Dad whispered into my ear as he nudged Mum out of the way and held me close.

  The urge to break down and confess was almost too hard to resist. Telling Dad,
having a shoulder to cry on and someone to reassure me would be priceless. Walking around with the weight of the world on my shoulders was squashing me and I knew the moment Dad learnt the truth he wouldn’t baulk at helping me carrying the load.

  “I’m just tired.” It was the best I could do. I lied. Telling the truth in a crowded restaurant on a Saturday night wasn’t the right time and place. When and if the time came and I needed to have that conversation, then I’d find a way.

  My mum was my hero. One look at her and I knew she wasn’t buying what I was selling, but she wasn’t calling me out on it either. Instead she ordered the cheesy garlic bread and we settled into a delicious dinner, filled with stories of my unruly grandmother and crazy sister’s latest shenanigans.

  By the time I made it home, I was feeling pretty good. Maybe it was the three cocktails. Or perhaps it was as simple as spending time with people who loved me without having to watch everything I said and did. It didn’t matter. By the time I got home I felt better. Lighter. Freer.

  Drew was already in bed, some football game on the TV, book in hand and his thick-rimmed glasses on his nose. Trying to look sexy, I sashayed into the room, failing when I banged the door frame with my shoulder.

  “Fuck me, that hurt.”

  “Shit, Maggie. Are you okay?”

  “No! That really hurt.” I rubbed my shoulder seeing spots of red blood where I’d pierced the skin.

  Setting his book down, Drew got up and came over to where I was standing in nothing more than my favourite purple bra and matching panties. One I don’t think Drew had ever seen before. Leading me into the ensuite, he grabbed the wash cloth and dabbed away the blood before placing a soft kiss on it.

  “What was… what was that for?” I asked nervously, completely sober now.

  “Um.” I don’t think Drew even realised what he’d just done. It definitely hadn’t been planned. Seeing him so off balance was endearing and made my heart beat just a little faster. Without thinking, without stopping to consider what I was doing or what it meant, or even what tomorrow would look like, I reached up, cupped his stubbled jaw and kissed him.

  It took a few seconds but then Drew was kissing me back with more passion than we’d shared in a long time. When his hands grabbed my arse, he hefted me onto the bathroom counter; any thoughts of holding back were quickly abandoned.

  It was the most uncomfortable, most awkward sex I think I’d ever had but so fucking hot I didn’t give a shit. I couldn’t care that the tap was digging into my lower back or that when Drew dragged my arse to the edge of the sink and wedged his shoulders between my thighs I was sitting in a puddle of water. The moan I let out echoed off the tiles as Drew stole my breath and made my whole body tremble.

  At some point we’d managed to make our way out of the bathroom into the bedroom but it didn’t seem to slow our desperate, needy and incredibly horny hands. By the time we were both too exhausted to move, it was the early hours of the morning and I’d fallen asleep sweaty and satisfied.

  In the light of the new day, I was gutted when I rolled over to find Drew’s side of the bed empty and the sheets cold. With the sun streaming through the crack in the blinds, I let the events of last night replay in my mind. It had been dirty and fun and completely unexpected. I was giving serious consideration to finding Drew and initiating a repeat.

  Slipping out of bed, I wobbled my way on shaky legs into the bathroom to clean myself up. As soon as I saw the sink, I felt my cheeks burn and when I dared meet my gaze in the mirror, the woman I saw looking back at me scared me. I looked like I’d been ridden hard and put away wet. The freshly fucked look did not suit me. Not at all.

  By the time I’d cleaned up, taking extra time to shave and exfoliate I was starving and craving coffee. Padding downstairs, the ridiculous romantic inside me was hoping to find the coffee pot full and hot, while a pile of fresh pancakes and crispy bacon waited on the table. When my toes touched the bottom step, I knew there was no bacon in my future. The house was eerily silent and there was sadly, no delicious breakfast scents beckoning.

  Trying not to feel too deflated, I popped a pod in the coffee maker before grabbing my phone from the charger on the bench. The message that was waiting for me shattered any illusions I had about a repeat performance.

  Drew: Had to fly to Adelaide for a few days for work. Will let you know when I’m back

  “Seriously? What the fuck?” To say I was pissed was an understatement.

  For the next forty minutes I stomped around the house taking my frustrations out on anything and everything in my path. The washing was punched into the machine. The floors were clean enough to eat off after I’d scrubbed, mopped and even dropped to my hands and knees and scoured the kick boards.

  When I eventually ran out of fight, I slumped to the floor exhausted. It took a moment, but my anger turned into sadness. In that moment, alone in the now-sparkling house, I was forced to choke down the very bitter pill that was reality. Drew didn’t care about me. Not really. Not like a husband should care about a wife.

  Realising it and accepting it were two completely different things. Just because the blinders had finally been lifted and I wasn’t living in a bubble anymore, seeing the truth and accepting the reality wasn’t easy.

  Resisting the urge to text him every angry thought that was going through my mind, I went upstairs to change so I could get out of the house. It felt like the walls were closing in on me. Photos of happier times hung on the walls were mocking me. I needed to get out of here. I needed to get away and think. Clear my head. Figure out what the hell I was going to do with my life.

  Four hours, three cappuccinos, a chocolate muffin and a travel-sized packet of tissues later, I was still clueless. I knew what I wanted to say, but wasn’t convinced I had the courage to actually say it. How did I tell him that I was tired of fighting to revive something that had already died? How did I say it without accusing him of killing it?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  PRESENT DAY

  MAGGIE

  In the back of the Uber, my anxiety crept back in. In my lap, I could see my hands tremble. With each kilometre, every time we passed a landmark I knew and had seen a million times my stomach gurgled a little more.

  When we rounded the corner and our house came into view, I coughed wildly, forgetting to breathe. I hated myself for being so afraid but I couldn’t shake off the sinking feeling. I’d had two weeks to try and find some perspective. To straighten out what I wanted to happen next. Drew had asked for a divorce. Even thinking about the ‘D’ word made me want to stick my head out the window and purge. But it was what it was. I couldn’t change his mind. I wasn’t even going to try. There was no point begging someone to love you. The last two years had been our attempt at trying to fix us. If that hadn’t done it, then nothing would. And I couldn’t keep living like this. Having my life on hold, living with someone who didn’t love me, who couldn’t understand anymore, who didn’t want to, wasn’t doable.

  “We’re here,” the driver announced, turning into the driveway.

  Staring up at the front door I was shocked, but I didn’t understand it. Nothing had changed. I don’t know why I expected it would. In the early morning, the house looked empty and silent.

  “Thanks.”

  Unbuckling my belt, I climbed out, grabbed my stuff and dragged my suitcase up the front stairs. Slipping my key in the lock, I sucked in a breath as the door opened with a creak. Yet another thing I’d have to get fixed before the house went on the market.

  I knew it.

  My marriage was over.

  My life as I knew it was over.

  What came next, I wasn’t sure.

  Somehow though, I knew I’d survive. I’d come out stronger. I just had to take one day at a time and try not to let my head get ahead of me.

  Dropping my bag on the table, I left my suitcase where it was and headed into the kitchen. Kicking off my shoes, I turned the corner and froze.

  Sitting at the k
itchen bench, looking like he hadn’t slept, let alone showered, in weeks, sat Drew. His hair was standing on end. With his pyjama pants slung low around his hips and a ratty old t-shirt, he sipped from his mug. But it was the unruly beard that hurt my heart. Drew never looked this unkempt and mangy. He was always well put together and clean cut.

  “Maggie?”

  Caught completely off guard, I said the only thing I was thinking. “Where the fuck have you been?”

  ***

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MAGGIE

  “What are you doing here, Drew?”

  “Where the fuck have you been?”

  Well, this was going well. NOT! After stepping off the plane which was delayed then delayed again when we spent time circling over Sydney because of the damn airport curfew, I was tired, grumpy and keen for a shower, not a showdown. On the way home, I’d been planning and dreaming about standing under the scalding water, letting it work its magic on my sore, tight muscles.

  Rubbing the ache that was building at my temples, I ignored the filthy looks Drew was sending in my direction and instead stuck to my plan. Taking a glass from the cupboard, I turned on the tap and filled it with water before taking a long drink. I needed a second to try and find some kind of order to my muddled brain before I went head to head with Drew. The only thing on my side right now was he looked how I felt. Dishevelled and like he’d been dragged behind a truck for the last four blocks then dumped face-first in a mud puddle.

  When the glass was empty, I rinsed it, sat it back on the drainer before taking a deep breath and turning to face Drew. Although I knew this conversation would happen, I hadn’t been counting on it so soon. All I could hope was I’d be able to get out what I needed to.

  Trying again, I started. “Hi, Drew.”

  “Hi Drew? Seriously, Maggie? That’s what you’re going with? Hi Drew?”