Ditching The Dream (Dream Series) Read Online Free Page A

much as I had been an adult in sending him a message, this time I took the wimpy route and hit “Decline” on the screen, letting the call go to voicemail. I flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. The phone chirped that a voicemail had been left. What a surprise. Then I remembered that there was a voicemail from my mother. I just didn’t have the energy for that one, so I didn’t go there.
    I heard the ding of another notification coming through my phone, this time a text. Guilt and curiosity getting the better of me, I glanced at the screen.
    11:45PM
    Where are you? I’ll come
    and get you. I love you
    too. We’ll fix this. G.
    Tears sprung into my eyes. With more than an ounce of shame, but still the knowledge that I was doing the right thing, I switched my phone to “Do Not Disturb.” I dug out my charge cord and plugged it in on the nightstand, then climbed into the huge, comfy bed.
    I was doing the right thing… right?
    As I lay in the king size bed, I continued to ponder what I’d done. I left. No discussion. No effort to work things out in therapy or anything, I left. Not the most level headed method of handling the situation, but I couldn’t stay. I was suffocating there. I was dying. Daily my internal light grew more and more dim.
    The way Greg sounded in a couple of those voicemails, I wouldn’t be surprised to be chased down by a lawyer with divorce papers in the next few days.
    But that last text. We’ll fix this. Was it possible? Did I want to fix it? Yes. But what he wants to fix wasn’t what I was trying to fix. I needed to fix me. I needed excitement, responsibility, strength. I needed my spirit back. My spark. My fire. I had no passion left. Greg always fought change. Trying to change things at home subtly would be futile. Even when I changed brands of orange juice he’d balk. Trying to get him to change how he’s been for the past twenty years? He needed something more intense. A wake up call on the extreme. A come to Jesus moment.
    Most people that saw us thought we were a perfect couple. That my life was a dream. Successful husband. With perfect kids. And a great house. But it wasn’t like that. I felt lost.
    Every time I’d talked about getting a job, Greg acted like I was out of my mind. “You need to be home for the kids.” “It’s not necessary; you do a great job taking care of the home.”
    Every time I talked about heading to the theatre, either a movie or musical or play, he’d come home with a DVD to watch instead.
    Every time I wore a nearly sexy dress or top, he’d look at me disapprovingly. He wouldn’t say anything. In fact, he’d say I look great “…but I like that (fill in the blank with a conservative top description like ‘blue cardigan’) better.” If it were up to him, I’d be dressed in long pants and turtlenecks year-round.
    Then there were glaring problems. Primarily, his lack of attention to me. I wasn’t asking to have a husband who doted on me, but to have a meal with the man, without his dang cell phone as the third person at the table, would be nice. Our anniversary dinner started to creep into my head and made my blood boil. Yes. I was doing the right thing.
    Three weeks ago had been our twenty-third anniversary. Not a major one, but our first as empty nesters. I insisted we go out. For our anniversary, I didn’t want to be washing dishes.
    The first zinger was the restaurant he chose. He didn’t ask me for my input either. It was a place we’d been to before, and I had never been a fan of it. But it was his favorite place, a half of a block from his work. We’d always leave the place with him asking, “Isn’t that place great?” And I’d always shrug and say, “It’s okay.”
    Then, when we ordered drinks, he raised an eyebrow at the Cosmo I ordered. “Starting with the hard stuff, huh?” he asked. What? It was a freakin’ cocktail! It was our anniversary!
    He didn’t order a bottle of wine, just two glasses because