Are we what we pretend to be?

indispireDully, she watched him as he wobbled his way toward the bed.  As was usual, without any preamble, he grabbed her. She went in position.  The deed done. Almost immediately, he was snoring.

“Is this Marital rape?” Alter-ego popped a question.

“You have been enduring this for years,” Conscience carped.

“But why do you have to suffer?” Ego reflected.

“Do you have any choice?” Diminishing reason reasoned.

“This is marriage, a commitment. There is neither looking back nor quitting,” Helplessness spewed out.

“He needs me, and the kids need their father and I need his money to secure kids’ future.“ Logic muttered.

“And this is your share of life.” Sentiment burst.

“Under that rugged veneer, lies a tender heart. And you know to play your cards right.” Confidence whispered.

“My life. My bane. Perfect couple, other’s think. So is it!” She soliloquized.

“Put on your mask of contentment,” Warning cautioned.

War-weary woman rose up the next morning with a pretentious content, her raison d’être.  Her pretensions had pulled on over two decades of marriage.

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