2. Silence

Nothing is familiar.

This morning I watched him pack up the things that he had brought for me in the suitcase that he had carried them in.  I watched frozen by the window, knowing that when he had completed his task I would be forced to leave with him. Each item I had touched I felt him waiting for a glimmer of a memory, any recognition that I remembered them as my things. My things... It feels ludicrous to call them that when, to me, I have never seen them in my life.

We haven't spoken other than the perfunctory greetings and enquiries as to my health. Did we have great conversations? Did we laugh together? I feel the strain of silence and the intrusion of his person in the room.

This is my husband. This tall man with his blonde hair and serious expression. Each day he comes wearing a suit, the jacket missing but the waistcoat always fitted and fastened. I have no idea of his profession, why he is always dressed so smartly. I don't know him! I want to scream it through the window and down to the street below.

But I can't... it would break the silence.

Lost in thought I jumped when he touched my arm. Touched me for the first time, startling us both. Had I always felt electricity at his touch or was what I felt merely confusion mixed with the fear of my new circumstances? Had his eyes always been so blue as they held my own?

That first touch had been hours ago and he had gone out of his way to avoid repeating it since. The hours had been spent travelling, him driving, while I dosed and contemplated the trip to the highlands of Scotland when I had lived my whole life at the other end of the British Isle.

As we neared our destination I hid in the pretense of sleep until I was forced to open my eyes at his words.

"Ally... we're home."

Home.