Confession of an Abandoned Wife - Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Hartstein, Michal

  By the time I’d finished cleaning up, I was completely awake. It was already past midnight, but I didn't want to go to sleep. I went into the chat room and looked for Hanoch. He wasn’t online.

  The next day, Itay couldn't understand what he’d done wrong. He meant to wash the dishes. In retrospect, maybe I overreacted, but I was angry at him and his long hours at work. I yelled at him until the walls shook. He didn’t answer me, how I hated that. When I was done screaming, he just asked me, "Have you finished yelling?" I nodded.

  "OK," he replied, taking the girls, who’d been hiding in their rooms and heading out.

  "When are you coming back?" I asked.

  "When you calm down," he replied coldly.

  "Wait, I'm calmer," I replied in tears.

  "You’re not calm! The girls don’t have to hear you like that," he replied in English so the girls wouldn't understand him, and my crying only intensified. He always managed to be self-righteous, even when he was in the wrong. They got into the elevator, and I was left alone.

  I thought to myself, why can’t I be a more supportive wife? After all, he’s not the only man who works late. I couldn’t relax. I didn't care about other wives. I didn't feel it was fair that concessions only came from me. I didn't have a family for this. I felt I was right and he was wrong.

  My crying slowly subsided and fatigue took over. I fell asleep on the couch in the living room.

  I woke up five hours later. It was after lunch, and Itay had still not returned.

  "Where are you?" I texted him. I didn't want to call and lose my temper again.

  Five minutes passed and he didn't answer.

  I texted him again. "Why don't you answer? I’ve calmed down..." A few seconds later, the phone rang. He didn't notice the first post so he did not answer.

  "Where are you?"

  "With Oren and Hila." Jesus, I can't stand those braggarts!

  Oren and Hila studied together with Itay in high school. Oren and Itay were in the same grade, and Hila had been a couple grades behind them. Hila and Oren started dating when Oren and Itay were in the eleventh grade, and since then, they had been inseparable. Itay had been a fifth wheel for years in that group until I showed up, and he’d hoped that, at last, they’d be a beautiful and symmetrical quartet. He didn't consider that, in order to be a quartet, everyone has to endure each other. Hila and I had disliked each other from the start.

  Hila is the kind of woman who gives other women (human-women) the impression, ‘I'm perfect, you can learn from me, but you’ll never be like me.’ Orit, my sister-in-law, is like that, but with her it’s a bit more refined and she, at least, has some small sense of humor.

  Hila and Oren have three children: two daughters and a son. Their middle daughter and son are close in age to our daughters. She stopped working after she gave birth to her middle child and every chance she gets she likes to point out how happy she was that she ‘gave up’ her career for the sake of raising children. I never told her to her face, as the hostility between us is beyond words, but with all due respect, to be the secretary or office manager for a driving school is not a career.

  Hila's children have never gone to any afternoon programs. They’ve always returned home to the heady aromas of Hila’s excellent, I admit, home cooking.

  Hila’s always kept everything so neat and tidy in her house; she’s never had a maid.

  When I first knew Oren, he was slim and trim, but he has a good paunch now. Hila spoiled him as much as she pampers their children. He never leaves their house without a large, delicious sandwich in his briefcase. Oren has never, and I mean never, had to iron his own shirt. I discovered this fact from Itay, who’s had to iron a shirt or two in his life.

  Personally, I don’t buy this act. I think Oren is actually Hila's first child. He’s become so used to the comfort she provides that he’s afraid to disobey her; otherwise he'll have to, God forbid, iron a shirt.

  At first, Itay made the effort to convince me to join him when he went to their house. They haven't come to visit us in our home since their youngest was diagnosed with an allergy to cats, which is one of the reasons I’m delighted we have a cat. But, in time, Itay's dream of a nice foursome shattered, and he realized it was for the good of all concerned that our meetings be limited to the ‘no choice’ events such as weddings and bar mitzvahs.

  This’s why I was so annoyed that Itay had gone over to them. Great! Now he was probably whining to them about being married to a monster, and Mrs. I'm-So-Perfect-That-The-Sun-Shines-From-My-Ass will prattle to Itay about how she always supports her husband and how she let him go to the United States on a project for six months and she stayed home so as not to destroy their children's daily routines. She didn't even go to visit because she couldn’t leave her pampered angels for even one night without their mother.

  "So you’re whining about your horrible woman?" I asked Itay.

  "No."

  "So what are you doing there?"

  "I just got here. We ate and slept at my parents and then the girls wanted to play with Ilay and Ayalla, so I went with them."

  "What did your mother say about you coming without me, unannounced?"

  "I didn't say anything."

  "What do you mean? She didn't ask?"

  "No."

  I know it’s not popular these days, but I like my mother-in-law, Zehava Moskowitz.

  "When are you coming back?"

  "Don't know."

  "I’ve calmed down," I lied a little. I was mad that he went to Oren and Hila’s after our fight.

  "I can hear that," Itay claimed, but men never hear the hidden message within a woman’s words.

  "So when are you coming back?"

  "Later."

  "Why?"

  "Because Oren’s having a barbecue and the girls want to stay."

  "Good for you," I replied coldly and hung up.

  I felt lonely and abandoned, but the truth was I enjoyed the quiet. After the day before, when the girls almost drove me insane, suddenly I had some time to myself.

  I went over to chat. Hanoch was there.

  "How are you?"

  "OK."

  "What about you? How was Rosh Hashana?"

  "Disgusting."

  "What happened?"

  "My husband quarreled with me."

  "About what?"

  "I have no strength to relive it, but in short, I'm tired of his long hours."

  "At work?"

  "Yes."

  "?"

  "What?"

  "You stopped writing."

  'I'm tired and I have no idea why, since I slept for five hours at noon. "

  "Then maybe we'll talk on the phone?"

  "You never miss a chance..."

  "I'm dying to wish you 'Shana Tova' and hear your voice at last."

  I thought for a moment. Maybe I hadn’t thought it through enough, but I was so charged that day, that I finally sent him my number.

  Within five seconds, my cell rang.

  "Shan Tova, beautiful!" He had a very deep voice, just like a radio announcer.

  "Happy New Year to you too," I replied sheepishly.

  "Where are you?"

  "Home."

  "Alone?"

  "Yes, and you?"

  "I'm home. I'm going out now with the dog, for a long walk."

  "Where is Meital?"

  "At her mother's house."

  "Where were you yesterday?"

  "At my parents’. My sister’s pregnant again and Meital is shattered." The sixteenth treatment had also failed Hanoch and Meital.

  "So why aren't you with her?"

  "I can't talk with her anymore. She can't talk about anything but Daphy’s pregnancy, like Daphy’s actually doing it to torture her or something. I'm tired already."

  I listened and said nothing. Suddenly my troubles didn't sound so terrible.

  "Are you still there?"

  "Yes."

  "You’re quiet."

  "I have nothing to s
ay."

  We were silent for a long moment and then he suddenly said, "Let's meet."

  "What?" I asked, shocked.

  "I'm going to the national park at Ramat-Gan… It can’t be far from your house."

  "It's not so close."

  "But not so far since you’re from Givataim."

  "I don't know…"

  "Oh, Sharon..." he pleaded. "Come on."

  "I just gave you my phone number and immediately we meet?"

  "It's not such a big deal. It’s a public park. Nothing will happen."

  "I'm not afraid of you," I laughed.

  "I wish," he chuckled.

  "I don't know," I mumbled.

  "Sharon, please. I really need you. I feel so lonely."

  Me too, I thought.

  I thought for a moment and realized that I really wanted to see him, if only to satisfy my curiosity. I didn't know what he looked like yet.

  I showered quickly and drove to the park.

  In the car on the way there, I tried to convince myself I was just meeting a friend. This obviously didn't agree with every tremor I felt in my body, with my accelerated heartbeat or the cold sweat down my back.

  I wore tight jeans and a loose green shirt. I told Hanoch what I was going to wear because I thought I didn't look like my picture on The Marker Café, which was taken at the ritual circumcision of Eran, the fourth son of my little brother, Tomer. I’d been wearing an unpretentious black dress, my hair was up and I’d put makeup on.

  Usually, I have a mane of long curly hair. When I'm not working, I like to dress casually, sexy: tight jeans and loose shirts that expose my shoulders or my back, and I almost never wear makeup.

  I wore the most flattering shirt I could find, which emphasized my green eyes.

  I parked the car and followed Hanoch's directions. My legs shook and I almost fell over more than once. Hanoch was waiting for me by the waterfall at the entrance to the park.

  I had no doubt that it was him. By the waterfall, there was only one guy. He had a golden retriever with him.

  He was smaller than I expected.

  Not short, but very thin.

  I’m pretty tall. I'm not fat, not even full-figured, but I have a presence.

  Hanoch, who was more or less my height, was very, very thin.

  I associated him with a sick person when I saw him.

  I really don't want to toot my own horn, but he was completely out of my league.

  I had no idea why I’d imagined him as a solid and sturdy man. He said he was thin, but I’d made him into an imaginary character in my mind, a kind of fantasy of how I wanted my man to look.

  Itay was slender and not so sturdy, but, by comparison, he was definitely much more solid and muscular than Hanoch.

  I approached him and he realized that I was the one he was waiting for. His dog understood that I was coming to them and began to pull on his leash, headed toward me. When I was just a few steps from them, he jumped at me, wagging his tail. I'm not afraid of dogs, but he surprised me. His forelegs reached my stomach and lightly pulled at my shirt. I stepped back a little and my loose shirt got pulled downward. My black lace bra was exposed in all its glory before Hanoch's blushing face. So much more than I’d thought to expose to him, certainly not the first second we met!

  "Apollo, sit!" Hanoch told his dog, but Apollo was still frantic with excitement.

  "Dogs love me," I smiled.

  "Who wouldn't?" Hanoch flattered me. His voice didn't match his appearance at all, like he’d stolen his voice from a mountain climber. What had I expected? This was not going to be a man who got a suntan from working twelve hours a day under halogen lights in a laboratory…

  Hanoch came over toward me and hugged me with his free hand and kissed me on the right cheek.

  I was a bit shocked and giddy about the situation. I said nothing.

  "You are stunning," he whispered as he stepped away.

  "Thank you," I whispered shyly.

  "The picture on the website doesn't approach reality. You look like a serious aunt."

  I tried to understand the compliment and he continued. "I never would have guessed that you’re a mother of two girls. You look like one of my students."

  He embarrassed me. I decided to change the subject.

  "Want to take a walk?" I asked, pointing to the path that skirted the lake.

  "Great idea."

  We started walking silently. I had nothing to say. I was disappointed and didn't understand why. After all, if I had no romantic intentions towards him, why should I care about how he looked? I had other acquaintances who were ugly, and I still enjoyed their company.

  Apollo took the lead. Hanoch occasionally broke the silence with vague comments about the park and Apollo, who was sniffing away. I have no idea if it was Apollo’s whim or Hanoch’s intent, but we came to a dark shed covered by a climbing bush. Inside, there were a few benches.

  Hanoch went and sat down on a bench, and he released Apollo, who began frantically sniffing around the shed. I sat next to Hanoch, and he put his arm around me. I was uncomfortable, but said nothing.

  "It’s romantic here," Hanoch almost whispered.

  "I don't know... It’s a little dark," I said.

  Hanoch must have concluded from my remark that I was afraid, so he took my hand. His hand was as gentle as a woman’s, and that made me dislike it. I sat with my head bowed. His tiny hands hypnotized me. They were dainty, not manly.

  "You are just amazing," he whispered again.

  I turned my head to him and smiled. Before I realized what was happening, he embraced me, broke his tiny hand from mine, ran it through my tangled hair, grabbed my neck and pulled my face toward his. His lips touched mine. He started to kiss me and I didn't know what to do. I sat there, frozen. A million thoughts ran through my head.Is this what I want? Is it worth destroying my family? Can I get used to the sight of Hanoch? I tried to cooperate and I spread my lips slightly. I felt that Hanoch was getting carried away, and it repulsed me. I was not attracted to him, and I felt I wasn't doing the right thing.

  I pushed him away with both hands. I looked at him, smiled sheepishly and said, "Hanoch, I'm sorry. I just can’t," and ran out.

  I didn't even bother to check if Hanoch came out after me or not, but I knew he had to collect Apollo before he did so. I ran like hell to my car, got in and started to cry.

  I felt I had almost ruined my life, but also that I had saved it at the last second.

  CHAPTER 6

  Meeting Hanoch, or rather the disappointment I felt after meeting Hanoch, shocked me.

  The more I thought about the meeting, I realized that, even though I tried to deny that I had romantic intentions, it was only because Hanoch didn’t appeal to me that nothing had happened.

  For me at least, the encounter with Hanoch was a blind date. He hadn't lied about his appearance and I'm pretty sure he was much less terrible than I remembered. I’d just built myself a perfect figure in my head and when it didn't emerge as such, my illusions collapsed within seconds.

  I couldn't compare Hanoch to Itay. Itay was a very handsome guy, above average. Like all the men in his family, he had a good head of short light brown hair, Hanoch’s hair had been receding, dark blue eyes and a handsome face. He was also quite thin and not very robust, but, obviously, much more solid than Hanoch. Itay was a good-looking man, but from the first time we went out, I knew he was not to my taste. My male fantasy was a tall dark guy.

  Itay was a guy of average height, but since I was a tall girl, we were pretty much the same height. I admit that it bothered me. I thought it was more beautiful and romantic if a guy was a bit taller than a girl.

  This model for my male fantasy was not invented; he was a real guy named Arie, but everyone called him Eric, and he was a tennis instructor at the club where I used to practice from the age of sixteen through twenty-six.

  Eric, who was a student of electrical engineering at Tel Aviv University, financed his tuition thro
ugh the tennis lessons he gave, especially for desperate and rich housewives who used to drool all over him and doubtless gave him very generous tips. What he did for those tips, I never asked, but I can guess.

  Eric was ten years older than me. To me, he was a kind of Greek god. He was tall, nearly 6 feet tall, muscular and sturdy. His hair was black and curly, and he had deep brown eyes.

  I got into tennis for two reasons: One was that I was very unfit and I wanted to do sports that interested me, and the other was that I suffered from a lack of coordination. It was recommended that I try tennis. I trained for almost ten years, though not continuously, and I literally fell in love with this sport, but due to my congenital clumsiness, despite my persistence, I never became an accomplished player. I simply enjoyed the sport, the fact that I was very fit, and the family atmosphere at the club. After my military service, the club’s owner let me coach children’s groups and, in return, I was exempt from payment. I stopped playing and practicing when I got pregnant. I was afraid of the ball hitting me in the stomach and never played again even after my pregnancy.

  When I started to train at the club, the instructor assigned to me was a nice woman who had won some national title. I wanted a female coach because I was afraid that a man would hit the tennis balls too hard for me. After a year, Tammy left the country and tennis for medical studies in Italy, and I was left without a coach. The other female coaches were already fully booked up or worked hours that were inconvenient for me since I was still in high school, and that's how I met Eric, the club pensioners’ fantasy. Eric trained and practiced with men and young women, but he was undoubtedly the attraction par excellence of the club’s older ladies.