We went dancing

“We never went dancing,” Agnes shouted at Norman. “That’s another thing I wanted to do that you always refused me.”

“You never asked!” Norman shouted right back.

“Because you always decided what we’d do. It was always my parents this, my brother that, let’s go to the Adirondacks because my fucking family has a house there, we can’t go to your aunt’s for Thanksgiving because she doesn’t like my nephew’s cowlick.”

Agnes heaved and felt a bitter taste in her throat – regurgitated anger, she supposed, everything that had built up these past nine years. Well …

“And another thing, I don’t trust you. You cheated on me, you controlled everything in this house even though I bought it myself. I hate you, Norman Balmoral!”

They’d never been dancing. Maybe it’s because they’d never been able to dance together. Always apart. So that’s how it’d be.