“The problem,” Arabella chuckled cruelly, “is simply that Gerald doesn’t feel the same.”
Bridget looked at her with a soft, sad look. She put down her cup and cradled Arabella’s hands to look deeply into her eyes.
“That must have been so painful,” Bridget said with that sweet voice of hers.
Arabella nodded. It hurt just a little bit less that she had shared this and had someone understand.
“What did he say when you confessed your feelings?”
Arabella frowned. Bridget was looking at her with an expectant look.
“I didn’t confess.”
Bridget’s face changed into pure confusion.
“So, you mean to tell me that you haven’t shared with Gerald how your feelings have developed, and yet you are here pining for a love that you lost?”
“You don’t understand,” Arabella dismissed.
“Obviously, I don’t,” Bridget scoffed. “Would you care to explain?”
“It is not that simple, and it is not that easy. We had an agreement and understanding, but I was to be his wife so he could deal with some things in his life, and after that, he had no use for me.”
“Cruel and cold, but that was just the beginning, right?” Bridget said. “Did he remain cold and distant throughout?”
Arabella’s cheeks flushed the moment she remembered everything they had shared, from meals to conversations, from banter to jokes, some small gestures to intimacy.
“I see. Still, I must repeat myself. Where is the problem?”
“The problem is that he thinks I am pretending, and he doesn’t even consider that my feelings are true,” Arabella snapped. “The problem is that he very graciously gave me a hefty allowance and told me to choose from any house that he owns so we can go on our merry way.”
Bridget stood motionless, seeing Arabella break this way. Once Arabella had said what she had to, she felt all that pain she harbored inside claim her once more.
“The problem is,” Arabella said with her voice trembling, “I cannot live my life without him anymore. The problem is that I simply miss him.”
For a while, they stayed in silence, just the fire crackling and the soft rustling of their clothes.
“I am sorry this happened,” Bridget said.
That night, they fell asleep in their bed together.
* * *
Two days later, Arabella was still in her house. Her father was happy to have her there, not questioning what was truly going on. But for Arabella, it felt even worse than in the beginning.
It was painfully obvious to her that she could not go back to being her father’s daughter, not anymore. She could not be who she really wanted to be, so she was just spiraling down into sadness. She didn’t eat much, didn’t talk as she used to, and turned down all invitations for outings by her friends. She was simply going through the motions of daily life.
That night, she was sitting in her small childhood room, looking at the fire, when the door burst open. It was Bridget. At first, Arabella thought that something had happened, and she stood up, but then she saw Bridget’s face distorted with anger. It was quite an unusual look for her sister.
“Enough!” Bridget said and closed the door behind her.
“Bridget?”
“I said enough. This ends tonight.”
“What exactly ends tonight?”
“This! Whatever it is you’re doing.”
