Page 19 of Rainstorm

I take my time, enjoying my dose of caffeine—with reduced fat milk, of course, and sweetened with Stevia—standing in my kitchen, staring at the glass tiles we installed a few weeks ago, thinking how great it looks.

Crossing the narrow hall and then climbing the stairs, absent-mindedly I look at the photos we’ve hung on the wall. Some are from our wedding, others are of our wonderful honeymoon, many from our trips.

All of them are beautiful memories of our beautiful life.

I make the bed as usual, tossing the old sheet into the laundry, smoothing down a fresh crisp white one, setting the scene for tonight.

On my way to the bathroom, I discard my sweaty, sticky clothes. One more chore to accomplish today, do the laundry.

The hot drops of water hit my skin while I cling onto the blue loofah like it’s going to tell me what to do. It needs to be something special, that’s for sure, for me, for us, for him. We deserve it.

Chase, my husband, my entire world.

The same world that is crumbling at my feet.

Slowly.

I erase that thought, it’s impossible. I’m too frightened to imagine my life without Chase. We’ve been together for so many years.

All our shared goals.

All our shared dreams.

Our life together like a huge forest, not even the greatest fire could end it.

Until death do us part.

Our promise to each other, the vow we made.

No, I refuse to believe it. This can’t be happening. Not to us, I’m not allowing it.

I get out of the shower, thinking that I need to plan something romantic and fun for tonight, so that I can dress up in something nice for Chase.

We could always have a nice romantic dinner.

Hardly original, I know, but always a sure bet. As the old saying goes, ‘The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ and I’ve found that to be true.

However, maybe I’ll concentrate on one of my projects first, something to keep me busy and occupied. Finishing my dining table project would be perfect because then after dinner, we could find something naughty to do on it...

The table it is.

I spend the rest of the day sanding, staining and sealing the table we found in an antique store. Finally, it is transformed into my gorgeous new dining table. Also, a few months ago, we found some chairs in a flea market, and we picked out a smooth velvet fabric for the upholstery. Now, I busy myself working as hard and as fast I can to get the chairs done too.

At four o’clock I’m amazed to have finally finished one of my DIY projects.

Next, it’s Roselynn to the kitchen, if I want to finish dinner on time. Although cooking is not really my thing, I’m doing meatloaf with mashed potatoes and salad. I also pick out a bottle of wine saved for a special occasion.

Now I have to run and get dressed.

I’m riding a high of excitement and expectation.

I look in the drawers for my nicest underwear, I want something sexy. Maybe lace to match the silky dress I have chosen to wear with high strappy heels. Chase will melt, I know him well, it’s feminine and the most important thing; easy to remove. If Chase pulls at the thin strap around my waist, the dress will fall open. I see myself in the mirror, and don’t really like what I see but that’s who I am.

The outfit is a winner.

An omen. I hope so.

I straighten my hair and put on some make-up. I’m ready—and eager—for a night of intensive care for our marriage. I find some candles in the kitchen and strategically place them all over the house, so that it’ll smell like sandalwood, a sensual scent. I trust my husband will accept the silent invitation.

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