Stepford Wives

I want to ask her if he really is superior. If he loves her and cares for her like she says. Or if there is some silent code among married women. A code that is never betrayed for the sake of hope. What is life without longing? It goes like this: She makes his coffee and he takes out the trash. She raises the children and he pays for the house. She wants for nothing. She gives him what he wants. Keeps him satisfied. It is a perfect exchange, until one of them feels an emptiness. A twinge in the deepest part of the gut. A place that cannot be reached. He spends more times outside, playing golf, a drink after work, two. She smooths her hair in the mirror. Watches the FedEx man bring the package she ordered, the third one this week. She opens the door. The twinkle in his eye welcomes the touch of her hand against his. A forbidden exchange disguised as necessity, normalcy. This secret game they play in the light. There is no reason for hiding. No wrongs were made. They grow further apart, the husband and wife, but the children, oh! How they've grown! Off to high school, to college. The husband and wife, they travel. Retirement! they announce. His hand never reaches for her thigh. Her lips never for his cheek. He buys another set of golf clubs. She sips a gin & tonic and watches the bartender. She holds his gaze. Longs for what could be.