Dear John

Bob rubbed his temple, “Why’d we go out last night, Dawn?”

“Cause it was St. Patrick’s day.”

“Like we need another reason to get drunk,” Bob sipped his coffee.

Dawn turned to look at him, “Besides, we had to get away from Pam. She’s nuts.”

Bob picked up a piece of toast to butter, “She’s your wife.”

“She’s yours too!”

They gazed at each other for a moment. Both shrugged their shoulders

Bob drank the last sip of his coffee before he said, “Why are we with her?”

“She’s a good fuck.”

“She is a freak in bed,” Bob scratch his cheek. “And?”

Dawn scratched the top of her head. Bob knew when she did, Dawn didn’t have and answer. He went over and stood beside her chair, and kissed her on top of her head.

“Do you love her?” he said, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Ya..,” Dawn started to say. “I used too. Do you?”

Bob avoided the question, “I don’t like how she treats you. And makes you cry.

She grabbed both of his hands, “You didn’t answer the question.”

He pecked her lips, “I love you.”

“Robert,” sounding annoyed.

Bob paused for for a minute, “I did at first. Even before you came into our life, I think my love faded.”

Dawn kiss him, hard and long. Bob felt her love for him.

They left a “dear john” letter taped to Pam’s bathroom mirror to make sure she saw it when she got home.

Dawn randomly pointed to a spot on the map, and they left for Maine.


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