I can still hear the banging of the pots and pans in the kitchen. The sound of metal hitting the formica top made me winced and I tried hard to ignore it and continue my conversation with him. I know who was the one irritated enough to cause me to lose my train of thoughts every 5 seconds. At a loss with my guest, I excused myself and walked to the kitchen. I can see that he was in the midst of preparing dinner, and I realised that I was late coming home. And the icing on the cake was that I already had dinner. With the other guy. The one still sitting in the living room.
I looked at my guy, and back at the almost set dinner table. A single white daisy in a tall vase and an unlit candle decorated the middle. And another thought crossed my mind. It was our anniversary. He then turned around as if sensing my pensiveness, then looked away again. He knew I'd brought somebody home for a little nightcap. But what was worse was the fact that I didn't even bother to call. He just leaned by the stove, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
He then spoke in the softest voice, saying things that made me teared. I just stood there, willing him to stop, hoping that I had the strength to say the words. "I'm so sorry," I whispered. I walked to him, opened my arms wide for a comforting hug. He remained where he was so I tiptoed and pulled down his head. I cradled his head against my bosom and stroked his hair gently. I could feel his tears and it touched me deep. This man loves me, he really does.
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