I love you. Those three words craft the biggest lie anyone can tell and yet, they’re the three words that I say the most. I weave them together with false care and a smile that is as real as the diamond that sits on my wedding band. I smile as I admire the cheap ring, watching the light bounce off it in a poor attempt to trick me into believing the lie my husband vowed to me. I wonder how much longer I have to continue telling my lie.
I glance up at the dust coated window, watching my husband’s reflection in it. He stood behind me wearing a hideous apron that I got him for his birthday years ago with big bold letters declaring Kiss the Chef. It was stained with old cooking grease and food that he had once spilled. There was a time we had attempted to get the stains out, but they never came out.
He turns towards me, a glare reflecting at me in the window. His blue eyes are full of hatred that I hardly ever see. I catch myself wondering if he lies to me too, but I already know that he does. He started lying the first time he said those coveted three words to me. It was the same day I started lying.
I turn in my old, creaky chair with a smile masterfully painted on my face to greet a man who never loved me. He was smiling back, one that was too welcoming for a man whose wife lies to him every day. Does he know I lie to him?
I fling myself at him with open arms, knowing that he will catch me. He hasn’t failed to catch me in forty-two years. He laughs and kisses me while I keep my eyes open, watching the sun catch his grey hair. I almost forget to smile as he sets me down to tell me the lie that we love to tell each other.
“I love you.” He lies. I kiss him without any passion.
“I love you too.” I lie. When would be the last time I tell him that lie?
I remember the first time I told him that I loved him. I had tenderly saved those three words to tell him them on the day I was dressed in white. I had chosen a dress with a long train and told him it was a symbol of our love lasting long. A lie. My hair was up in a full bun with a bouquet of white lilies in my hands as I glided down the aisle to unite with a man I never loved.
My husband stood in a black suit with a smile that told the room how much he loved me, but we both knew the truth. He didn’t love me and I didn’t love him. I hadn’t even said those three words to him yet. He had already told me those words dozens of times. I didn’t say them while we were standing at the altar, holding hands, promising to support each other for the rest of our lives. Neither did he. I didn’t utter them after we exchanged rings and kissed.
Instead I faced his family with a false smile to match his while they cheered. My husband laughed, holding our hands up in the air as if I was a trophy he had just won. I might as well have been one. I didn’t say those three words when he turned to me just to kiss me again. His eyes shone with pure joy, but I knew the truth. I had no doubt at that moment that the three words he spoke were lies.
“I love you.” He said, the words sounding like a promise from a fairytale. I should have felt happy when I heard those words, any bride would have except for me. I knew he didn’t love me. I smiled sweetly at him, knowing that the next words I spoke would always be a lie.
“I love you.” I tell him, just as I had over forty years ago on our wedding day. Perhaps this will be the last time I say those words. I set down a warm cup of tea with a “loving” smile. My husband picks it up from the ancient table his parents had gifted us years ago, nodding his head to me as he sips the cinnamon spiced drink. I sit down across from him with a cup of my own without cinnamon. I don’t like the way mine tastes.
“Simon?” I ask, watching him look up. “Do you love me?”
My husband hesitates for a moment, a frown passing over his lips before merging into a practiced smile. I know that smile too well, I wear it too. “Of course I do. Why do you ask?” He questions, drinking his tea.
He pauses for a moment, looking at the cup as if something about it is different. He doesn’t like the taste either and yet he drinks it just as I do.
I smile, knowing his lies and knowing what I have done. I lean on my hand. I know that he will never tell me the truth. I watch my husband drink his tea, sure that he’s already noticed the slight difference in the tea we both drink. He finishes his cup and sets it down. We both know what I’ve done, but I’m tired of lying.
“Darling?” He asks. I smile while his skin pales and his face twists up. He glances down at his empty cup. He looks at me, his queen of lies, as he asks his final question. “Do you love me?”
I finish my cup, noting the sour taste of it today. There’s only one thing to say as his head hits the table, his body still. My last lie that he’ll never hear.
“I love you.”