I had never really liked alcohol.
In fact, during the first years of our marriage, I often told him,
“George, I don’t want any.”
But he would always give me the same answer.
“Just a little, Margaret. Drink with me.”
Sometimes he even smiled when he said it. So I drank. Years passed, and that strange little ritual became part of our lives.
Even our children joked about it.
“Mom and Dad have their evening tradition.”
I laughed with them.
Until one evening. I had been feeling tired that day. Not sick. Just exhausted. George brought out the glasses as usual.
voice sounded completely different.
“I said I don’t want it.”
He slammed his hand against the table so hard that both glasses shook.
“Margaret, just drink it.”
In forty years of marriage, I had never seen him react like that.
I stood up.
“Why is this so important to you?”
He said nothing.
Then he picked up his own glass, drank it in one swallow, and walked out of the kitchen. I barely slept that night.