When I returned home from work that evening, I was surprised to hear water splashing in the bathroom. The sound resembled ripples and made it obvious it was coming from the bathtub. It wasn’t like my husband didn’t bathe, of course. It was just that he’d always preferred showers.
I, on the other hand, adored baths. Our tub was designed with two people in mind, but I always relished in having it to myself and my glass of wine.
“I’m home!” I called, dropping my bag onto the floor, and making my way towards the bathroom.
“Oh! Hey, honey! Hold on a moment!”
I slowed my pace, wondering what on earth was going on. My husband and I had a no-lock policy and didn’t stress about seeing each other naked. Our rooms didn’t even have keys, so while I was sure it wasn’t locked, I didn’t want to disrespect him by barging in anyway.
“Um, what are you up to?” I asked, placing my hand on the handle.
I could hear water sloshing and the squeak of the bathtub as he moved.
“Okay! You can come in now!” he called from the other side.
I pressed down the handle and pushed the door open. The first thing I noticed was the foggy mirror. In fact, the whole room seemed to be enshrouded in a cloud of steam. My husband was sitting in the bath, which was overflowing. Foam was crawling down the side of the tub into a puddle on the floor.
“Hey,” he grinned at me, “How was work?”
I wasn’t even listening. The sight was so peculiar I wanted to laugh. Not once, during our ten years of marriage, did my husband express any desire to take a bath. Yet now, here he was, submerged to his chin, with half the bathroom afloat.
“Finally came around, huh?” I asked giggling.
He smirked.
“Yeah, thought I’d finally see what the fuss is about.”
Water was seeping onto the floor at his slightest movement.
“Uh, isn’t that too much water?” I suggested, nodding towards the expanding puddle on the floor.
“No,” he shook his head, “It’s the perfect amount.”
“Well, I was planning on taking a bath myself, so how about I get in too?” I said, sliding out of my trousers.
To my surprise, he sat up straight, sending more water over the edge.
“No!” he said, alarmed, and then added in a calmer tone, “I’d really…prefer to be alone.”
I blinked at him.
“Oh. Well, alright. Take your time!”
I shut the door and proceeded into the kitchen. I’ll admit, I felt slightly dismayed about not being involved. I mean, it wasn’t like my husband and I were attached at the hip, but I figured he wouldn’t object to having me there. I wanted to take a bath too, after all. Oh well, I presumed I’d just have to wait until he got out.
Except he didn’t.
Now, I’m all for long baths; I can spend up to two hours having a good soak. But I’m a veteran bather. My husband, on the other hand, had only just started. Almost four hours had passed since I got home, and he was still there.
“Are you okay?” I asked, peeking through a crack in the door, “Do you need anything?”
He jumped at the sound of my voice.
“No! No, I’m totally fine!”
“Aren’t you hungry?” I asked, perplexed, “I’m making lasagna.”
He bit his lip.
“No, no thank you, I ate a while ago.”
And that was it.
I ate alone that evening. I could hear intermittent sounds of the tap being turned on and off and presumed it was because the water was getting cold. It was almost 10 P.M. when I finished washing up and felt tired enough to go to bed.
“Isn’t that enough for one day?” I asked, as I entered the bathroom to take off my makeup, “Let’s go to bed!”
The puddle on the floor had expanded and fully saturated the mat.
“No, this is great,” he retorted dryly, angling the shower head at the water to make more foam, “You go, I’ll join you later.”
“Your skin is going to look terrible, look how pruny it is,” I said, gesturing at his fingers, “And what about the water bill?”
He pursed his lips.
“We can afford it.”
I went to bed distraught. Was this some kind of ploy to get back at me for always hogging the bath? Was he trying to teach me a lesson? If he was, it was definitely working.
I woke up at 2 A.M. that night, and immediately felt my husband’s side of the bed. It was empty.
Christ. Had he fallen asleep in the bath?
I got out of bed and tiptoed towards the bathroom. It was silent. I pushed the door open slightly and peered inside. My husband was fast asleep, but from where I was standing, it looked like his nose was submerged in water.
Panicked, I pushed the door open with a loud bang, and he jumped up in fright, sending a huge wave of water overboard.
“What are you doing?” I yelled at him, “You could have drowned!”
He seemed disoriented but held his own.
“I’m not going to drown, Martha, just go back to bed.”
“Why won’t you get out of the bath? What’s wrong?”
He looked disheveled and his eyes were red and glassy.
“Go back to bed,” his tone was icy, and made it abundantly clear he wasn’t in the mood to talk.
So, I did. My husband was about three times my size, so what was I meant to do; pull him out of the bath?
I woke up early the following morning and headed straight to the bathroom. My husband was already awake, watching me slyly as I entered. The entire room smelled foul, and I couldn’t help noticing a lump of brown treading through the foam.
“Either you get out right now,” I said sternly, “Or I’m calling an ambulance.”
He shot me a pleading look.
“Don’t call anyone. I promise I’ll be out before you get back from work.”
I snorted.
“I’m not going to work! It’s Saturday!”
His eyes widened and I realized this was news to him.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered, his eyes welling up with tears.
I stared at him, unsure of what to say.
“Honey,” he began, “I wanted to keep you out of it…”
“What?” I snapped, but he pressed a finger to his lips.
“…I was planning to deal with it until you got home last night, but I ran out of time…”
I felt a chill crawling up my spine.
“Ran out of time to do what?”
“To…get rid of…” he sobbed, “her…”
My heart was in my throat.
“Sh-she drowned…and I couldn’t bear for you to see…”
I shook my head.
“Wh-who drowned?”
My husband buried his face in his hands and then reached beneath the foam and pulled up a handful of hair. I reeled backwards, gagging.
“I wanted to wait until you went to work…so you never had to see it.”
I leaned on the door frame to steady myself.
“You mustn’t tell anyone,” he whispered, “They’ll take me away…”
Silent tears were flowing down my cheeks.
“Please, don’t cry, Martha, I’ll do anything,” he pleaded, “Whatever you like…”
I tried my best to compose myself, wiping my blotchy face with my sleeve.
“I’d like…” I sniveled, “I’d like to take a bath.”