The Unwanted Wife

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” The nurse brusquely proceeded to give her a crash course in breast-feeding, ignoring the way Theresa’s face flamed when the older woman started talking about breast pumps and let-down reflexes. Her father shifted uncomfortably while Sandro sat down at her bedside, a mixture of smug amusement, overwhelming pride and bewildered love on his face.

“What about your important business?”

“I’d stay if you wanted me to.”

“It makes no difference what I want,”

“Would you like me to stay home?”

“Why don’t you just stay home if you’re so concerned?”

Make my life hell? Well, surprise, surprise…it’s already hell! Do your worst!”

“Yes. I’m tired,” Theresa said remotely and Sandro’s brow furrowed. He watched as Theresa absently stroked the baby’s down-soft back, without once looking down at the infant and knew that something was terribly wrong.

“Yes,” she muttered automatically. “I suppose she is.” He frowned down at her, puzzled by her response or lack thereof.

“Theresa... what’s wrong?”

“Name the days,” he invited and she nibbled at the lower lip, giving it some serious thought.

“Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays,” she deliberately chose his busiest office days, the days he often trudged home much later than usual, hoping that it would force him to cancel a lot of the time. His sharp gaze told her he knew exactly why she had chosen those days but he grinned suddenly and nodded.