Fiction Friday:
The Book of Micah, Ep. IV

Approaching home, Micah could see smoke rising from the chimney in the distance. Coming closer, he saw clothes drying on the line he'd set from the back corner toward the vegetable garden. The door was open as he walked up the stone path. He noticed the absence of everyday noises he would expect from his children. The hinges creaked as he pushed the door further in. Vestia stepped into the front room from their bedchamber. She offered him a wan smile, but no words of greeting.

Micah pulled out a stool from under their small table, gesturing to another as a silent request for his wife to join him. She sat. For long minutes, neither spoke. Vestia was the first to open her mouth.

“It was Father,” she said. Micah watched Vestia's face, but didn't respond with words.

“He overheard a conversation with Mother, and believed you had been unfaithful. He demanded your blood for my honor.” Micah blinked as she continued. “He would not believe me, nor Mother, when we assured him of your innocence. He insisted on visiting the district regent without delay.”

Vestia continued to fill him in on the events that had transpired while he waited in the dark, culminating in the royal magistrate's securing his release. Throughout the recounting, Micah's gaze remained steady on her face. As she concluded her story, she placed her chin on her hands and returned his stare.

“Thank you,” Micah spoke quietly.

Vestia offered a small nod, then straightened her back and lifted her chin. “A lesser woman may have relished the opportunity to rid herself of an unwanted husband.”

Micah looked away in the silence that followed her remark. “Am I,” he finally asked, “unwanted?”

Another silence.

“I want you,” Vestia quietly admitted. “It is you who doesn't want me.”

Micah dropped his eyes to the table. She made it sound so simple, so cruel. He shrugged, desperate to deny her statement, but unable to offer an alternative.

Vestia spoke again, “It seems we both want what we cannot have.”

Micah nodded without looking up.

“Micah,” Vestia spoke his name sharply, but with affection, as she did when she chastised one of the children. He looked back into her eyes, recognizing swollen evidence of too many tears and too little rest. “What are you going to do about it?”

No answer came. Micah’s gaze fell back to the table. He hitched one shoulder, just slightly upward, not certain what to say. He’d never believed he could stray from the road he walked with Vestia. Was there really another way? His heart pounded against his chest as he imagined himself no longer caught in this life he had only lately begun to admit seemed to chafe like an ill-fitting garment.

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