The scene had been set yesterday afternoon when she complained at work that she felt nauseous, and made sure she went to bed before the kids. Her husband had kissed her forehead head that morning; promised to take the kids to school, phoned her boss and got her mother to do the evening school run. He was a thoughtful man.
She'd waited thirty minutes after the car left the drive, worried he would come back for a book bag and then...and then the betrayal started in earnest. She showered, and let the brand new summer dress glide across freshly shaven legs. Took cash from the drawer, to avoid a trail on the bank statement.
There was still time to turn back. To change into her sweats and watch morning TV, but she didn't, she got a taxi to the train station and headed to a place she would be a stranger.
Wedding ring in her purse she climbed the station steps to the town that was her university home. The guilt lifted and the excitement began. She caught her own reflection in the shop window, flushed, young and carefree.
How could she explain the need to walk around an art gallery? To sit in the park and sketch. To lunch alone reading a magazine.
How could she explain this need to fall in love with the person she use to be?