I turned left and nearly ran into a blue Citroen crawling sluggishly on the highway. I honked several times and the car moved slightly to make way.

I accelerated slightly and got alongside the annoying driver, hoping to unleash an expletive or two at him. He was a young man in his early twenties. It was obvious he couldn’t concentrate because he was kissing his passenger – a woman. He had one hand roving all over her body and the other on the wheel. I was disgusted.

In the split second before I stomped on my pedal in disgust, they disengaged and I found myself staring at familiar green eyes. My wife’s face went bright pink, then turned death-pale.

I pulled over and burying my face in the wheel began to cry. I was overwhelmed by lots of feelings – betrayal, humiliation, anger, hurt, and some other feelings I can’t describe.

I gathered myself together and drove on home. As soon as I got home I walked straight to the bar and grabbed the Johnnie Walker bottle. I’ve never tasted alcohol – my wife and our friends do all the drinking – but I was determined to drink myself to oblivion on the first try.

I downed the first glass, then drank straight from bottle until my chest began to burn. I flung the bottle accross the room and threw up all over the rug. I passed out not long after.

I came round two hours later to find myself wallowing in my own vomit. I was so repulsed I threw up some more, then went to take a sponge bath.

I had changed clothes and was cleaning up the rug when the door opened ad Diana let herself in. The picture of that afternoon sprung up in my mind’s eye and my anger returned.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she said.

“I see,” I said, my voice laced with sarcasm. “It wasn’t your fault that you were making out with a teenager. He has the Citroen which you’ve been longing for.”

“He’s twenty-one,” she said defensively.

“Does that make it right?” I thundered. “He’s twenty-one – so what? We got married five years ago when we were twenty-one. Is it time to trade me in for someone younger?”

She was silent, biting her lips and refusing to meet my angry gaze. My eyes travelled to the gold chain hanging around her neck.

“That’s where all my money goes – jewelry,” I gestured at the chain. “You never seem to get enough of it. I should have guessed that was what you needed them for – attracting rich young kids.”

She began to cry. I felt something close to hate at seeing the tears. Tears were the weapons she had used to get anything she wanted.

“I don’t own you,” I said with a tone of finality. “If you’re that sick of me you’re free to leave. I’m sorry I met you.”

“Honey,” she said through her tears, placing a hand on my shoulder. I looked down at it and remembered the way it had been wrapped tightly around that young man’s neck. I shrugged it off and turned my back to her.

“I’m sorry about everything,” she said. “I didn’t mean to.”

I felt her come closer and put both hands on my shoulders. I went livid with rage. I spun sharply around, my hand held high and poised to strike. For the first time in my life I wanted to hit my wife.

She inclined her head slightly and closed her eyes.

“Go on and hit me – I deserve it,” she said dociley. “I’m the worst person on earth but please don’t send me away.”

I was overcome with shame at myself and a feeling of tenderness for her. I lowered my hand and drew her to me. She sobbed into my chest as I stroked her hair.

“It’s okay,” I said.

She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes, her lower lip trembling.

“Why’re you being so kind?” she asked.

“I know three magic words I can say to you right now,” I beamed a smile down at her, tracing the curve of her cheek. “Do you want to hear them?”

She nodded.

“I forgive you,” I said simply.

“I feel bad about what happened,” she said. “Thanks for being…”

“Hush,” I said, enveloping her in my arms. For the moment, we belonged to each other once again.