Summary

A person returns home late and faces intense questioning and emotional turmoil from their partner, who is hurt and suspicious about their whereabouts.

Abstract

Upon returning home late, the protagonist is met with a heavy silence from their partner, who is visibly upset. As the partner questions where they have been, the protagonist struggles to meet their gaze and remains silent, sensing resentment and fear. The tension is momentarily broken by mundane conversation about coffee and a newspaper article, but the partner's underlying concern about the protagonist's recent absences resurfaces. The protagonist denies any wrongdoing, yet the partner expresses fear and insecurity, revealing the depth of their emotional distress. The story concludes with an apology from the protagonist, which is met with a complex mix of emotions from the partner, leaving the situation unresolved.

Opinions

The partner is deeply hurt and suspicious, as indicated by their repeated questioning and emotional response.
The protagonist feels the weight of their partner's suspicion and the gravity of the situation, yet they remain evasive about their actions.
The partner's feelings of fear and insecurity suggest a deep investment in the relationship and a sense of vulnerability.
The protagonist's apology suggests an acknowledgment of the pain caused, but it is unclear whether it is accepted or if trust can be restored.
The mundane conversation about the town's designation as the "ugliest town in the world" serves as a metaphor for the underlying ugliness or tension in the relationship.
The partner's unusual talkativeness reflects the severity of the situation and their need to communicate their fears, which is out of character for them.

NOVEL

“Where Have You Been?”

The anguish and the rage behind

I came home late at night and I went in quietly. I climbed the stairs and put myself to bed in the other bedroom.

The next day I was exhausted and barely got up from bed. When I got down to the kitchen he sat there.

There was complete silence in the house. He just sat there and watched, the face expressionless. He looked at me and asked:

“Where have you been?” He held my gaze, and I couldn’t meet his. He repeated the question.

“Where have you been?”

I sat with the phone in my hand. He looked at it and said, “You have to look more closely at it, it probably says something about it, I think — wherever you have been. Whatever you have done.”

I said nothing. I could sense the resentment in his voice. The weak quiver when he is angry. Angry and scared. I said his name, took a step forward, but then I stopped. There was resistance in him, there was no point in it.

He sat silently with the newspaper on the table in front of him. Seemed quite calm, almost a little apathetic. I waited, thinking we had to get through this now. We just had to.

“There’s coffee on the pitcher.”

I almost laughed when he talked. The words came so naturally, so completely by themselves. As if this was a perfectly ordinary day at the kitchen.

“Yes please!”

I put forth words, went to the bench, took the cup out of the cupboard, took the jug, sat me down at the table.

He dropped the newspaper. He put his hands on the table. Braided his fingers and let his hands lie on the table in front of him. He lifted his face, looked serious, without anger at me. I couldn’t trace anger in his face. But maybe something else. He was hurt, he was sorry. Not angry.

“Have you seen the newspaper?” he said. “It says here, Lonely Planet has named this town as the ugliest town in the world. They definitely advise people not to go here. — Yes, what do you think?”

“No,” I said. “Don’t know, it was a little strange, then.”

I felt the pressure on my shoulders starting to ease. It was as if the weight of a mountain that was above me was beginning to decrease. As if the hurt and the difficult began to change position and weight.

I waited for more, but he sat still. Typically he, as he is. A quiet man.

I heard his breath, a small sound from his nose on every other breath. He sighed. I waited for him to talk, but at first he didn’t say much. I waited in silence. Then it came.

“The ugliest town in the world — yes, what do you think?”

I looked at his face, wanted to see if he smiled. But he did not smile. He had a grimace in his face. It hurt.

“Where were you going?” he said. “Where were you last night, and the night before?”

He waited. I didn’t manage to say anything.

“What happened? What was it you were doing?”

“No,” I said, “nothing happened. Not what you think.”

“No?”

“I just — I just had to leave.”

“Had to leave? Get away? — Away from what then?”

I could hear the anxiety in his voice. The anguish and the rage behind it.

“Do you have any reason to run away? Have I done something to you that is so bad that you have reason to escape from me? Answer me! Do you have?”

I couldn’t answer. Then and there, in that moment, it came flooding into me. I couldn’t talk. But he did talk. So unlike him, because now he spoke, as he has rarely done since we were newly in love.

“You have to understand this,” he said, “ — that I get scared of you. I get scared. You cannot do things like this, do you realize that I’m scared, do you?”

He stopped. I waited for more. No more came. I waited, decided to give it a try.

“Sorry,” I said. I stretched my hand across the table to him, but he did not accept.

“Lars, there was nothing. No thing to worry about. It’s not the way you might think. I don’t -.”

He lifted his eyes, looked at me quickly. A gleam of horror in his eye. A mix of that and some other, maybe hope. Or that he was relieved. Or suspicious. Or just sad.

NOTE from the author: This story is an excerpt from a novel — title: The Happiest Town in the World: Will Love You for Ever A Novel— published in 2020.