Innocent Lies

 He stormed towards the door, raced for the pavement. She tore open the window, launching his shirts onto the lawn.

He paused, glanced back. Timeless memories drifted past his face.

Memories and dreams.

The front porch, the rocking chairs. He wanted to grow old in those rocking chairs.

The garden. It looked just like his grandmother's garden, just the way he had always wanted it.

His eyes began to sting. His cheeks were wet.

It never should have gone this far.

Twenty years of his life lost in seconds. Forgotten.

He was a husband, a father, a friend. And what did he have to show for it?

He reached into the pockets of his worn jeans, pulled out his remaining belongings. It was the proof that he did exist all those years. And it fit in a single hand.

A faded picture. Torn business cards. Some change, accompanied by a single crumpled dollar bill.

So this is it.

He continued down the road, slower now, calmer now.

Turned the corner. Left, then right. Followed the road, he knew when he was there.

He sighed, smiled.

Through the window, past the delicate curtains, he saw a woman and child, laughing, cooking.

His second family. The family he hid for years. The years he lied to his wife, claimed he was working; claimed he was on the edge of a breakthrough.

He walked through the door, announcing his arrival.

“Where were you all this time?”asked the women. He kissed her cheek.

“We've been waiting!” giggled the child, attaching itself to his leg.

“Work”, he answered, “I'm on the edge of a breakthrough.