She had waited so long – her whole life, it seemed – for a moment that would absolve and free her. It had never come. She tried religion, five step programs, habit breaking strategies, counseling. She knew that perhaps confession would help – but to who? Her husband… couldn’t handle it. He’d be too angry – she was afraid. Dr Phil would say she wasn’t giving him enough credit, that she should let him choose his response, but, well, screw Dr. Phil. No, she chose to wait till it was fixed to tell her husband, and to keep her fingers crossed in the meantime that it wouldn’t ruin them.
The softest pillow is a clear conscience, she had read, and she ached to feel it. Hers was tarnished, stained – and not for lack of attempts not to spill, to bleach after the fact. There was this broken spot in her that she couldn’t seem to speak to – it did as it wanted. She would tell it no, we won’t do that anymore and make all sorts of resolutions but it would take over and do as it pleased, and she would wake up thinking how did that happen?
How could she speak to that other, mysterious part of herself? Hold a seance? Go under hypnosis? She was getting desperate.
It had to be done.