Monica’s head began to clear and she saw the truth, clear as spring water. She understood at last – but instead of tearing her up inside, it sewed everything all back together. She knew why he objected to the competition, why he objected to her family, why he buried himself in work, why he had an affair. She knew what drove his insatiable need to control the heat, the lights, the children’s activities, their food, their sex life – and she knew why he always had to have something to do.
“Would it help, Will, if I told you I know? It’s obvious just to look at you. You want your freedom. You’ve never really wanted to be married to me. Or to anyone, I believe.”
He faced her, ghostly white, his eyes an electric blue, and broke into a chaos of sobs. “Yes,” he cried, “it’s true. I never wanted the obligation. I accepted the responsibility, but nothing about it has made me happy. I don’t want to be obligated to anyone but myself. And I hate myself for it.”
She thought about their ten years together. There’d never been a real moment of security in their marriage, any sense of permanence and continuity that had defined her parents, her grandparents – the knowledge that, no matter what, they’d be together to the end of time. That would not be the case for Will and her. She must’ve always known it, deep down, but had never acknowledged that he’d leave one day, for one reason or the other – whether for a job, another woman, or a war. That’s why she’d hesitated for so long before marrying him. And she’d gone back to Mr. Huxtable to prepare herself for this day, and to become the woman she’d always wanted to be.
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