Mabel
.
.
My breath hitched and immediately I felt my husband’s presence in the room.
Like my neck was locked, I turned and faced him.
Sammy, añhough in his mid forties, was still very much athletic. His shoulders were still broad and his abs still well chiseled.
He leaned his masculine figure on the doorframe. The expression on his face remained unreadable.
I raced through my mind searching for how to respond. Should I blow up in anger? But there was no atom of anger in me.
Surprised, yes. Confused, yes. But mad at him, not at all.
The aching silence stretched between us, our eyes glued to each other, my fingers still clinging to the keyboard.
After a while, I finally spoke. “Care to explain this,” I said.
Sammy drew closer to me, his hands dipped into his grey pants that did
