Ch 1: Microwave Dinner

Men. They want us to be pretty but neglect to make us feel pretty. They want our bodies to remain in shape, even after baring children for them. They want their dinners prepared like a gourmet chef, but they don't even value eating at the table with the family. Instead, the microwave becomes a waiting room, their plate sit isolated in a box, ready, no matter how late they make it home.


After the kids have been fed, bathed, and homework is complete, there may be just a brief moment of silence, presenting the opportunity to venture into a book or dab into a podcast before your eyes began closing on their own. I mean, us women... we have to get sleep when we can because we know early in the morning, the cycle will repeat itself.

But men. Somehow in their imagination, there is nothing abnormal about climbing into bed at 1AM, expecting you to be perky and ready to have sex. But us women... we'll do anything to please our men. Exhausted as I am most nights, I turn over and allow him to place himself in me, thinking to myself... at least I deserve some pleasure for my sacrifices. But, after five humps he reaches his climax, then turns over and goes straight to sleep.

It feels like rape. I have forgotten what making love feels like. My body is a puppet and it's supposed to just pop into position when he pulls the string. Thank God, for thick, rubber, magic sticks and AA batteries, because I don't think I have reached a climax with my own husband since Obama was President. But that's what we are taught to do. Keep them satisfied even if we aren't.

Everything I Needed

I looked out of the window, my gaze fixed on the tranquil beauty of the rolling green hills of Oregon. The serene landscape stood in stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within me. My name is Chloe McCarthy.
Even though I am just 39 years old, I feel like an old woman. Incomplete, underachieved, and disappointed in myself.

When I first met my husband, Jonah, he was everything I had ever dreamed of in a partner. He possessed a sharp intellect, undeniable charm, and a charisma that drew people in effortlessly. I knew he was destined for great things and being by his side filled me with a sense of excitement and possibility.

Our wedding day was a fairytale come true. Surrounded by family and friends, we exchanged vows in a beautiful church ceremony. I believed our journey together would be filled with love, happiness, and unwavering support.

In the early years, our life was blissful. We embarked on adventures, made future plans, and basked in the joy of newfound love. But as Jonah began to make a name for himself in the political circle, a subtle shift occurred. The man I had fallen in love with started to change.

He became less interested in me and our marriage, his focus shifting to his own ambitions. The control he exerted over our lives grew, gradually eroding the partnership we had once cherished. Every decision, big or small, had to align with his political aspirations. I didn't get a say-so. I didn't a path of my own. I knew my role. Keep my mouth closed and be the pretty woman by his side.

The Sacrifices

I watched as Jonah became consumed by his pursuit of power, losing touch with the very essence of our relationship. The nights were spent alone, the intimacy we once shared fading away. Our conversations grew superficial, the passion dissipating into the abyss of his ambitions.

To support Jonah, I put aside my own dreams and aspirations. Motherhood became my primary role, raising our three children and ensuring a stable home for them. I found fulfillment in nurturing their growth and guiding them through life's hurdles, convinced that this sacrifice was a testament to my love for Jonah and our family.

I've always wanted to own my own bakery. As long as I can remember, I've loved to bake and cook. When I was a little girl, my grammy would allow me to cook with her. She could make cakes from scratch. She didn't believe in processed foods and she mixed her own seasonings. Since I've been married, it seems the only bakery I've been able to open is the one in my beautiful kitchen and my frequent diners are my own kids. Everyone we know tells me how delicious my dishes are. I've been asking my husband about opening a bakery and according to him, it's never the right time.

For Women. It's never the right time. There is never enough money for our dreams. The idea is not thought out enough. Or the most used excuse they give us, "let's talk about some more later." But later never comes.


For a while, I convinced myself that I had everything a woman could ever want. The material comforts and the adoration of my children masked the underlying dissatisfaction that gnawed at my soul. But deep down, I knew something was missing.

It was a quiet realization that crept up on me, casting a glaring light on the emptiness within my heart. I had all the trappings of a perfect life, but I didn't really have him. The man who had once been my pillar of strength and unwavering support had become a distant figure, lost in his own ambitions.

I yearned for his attention, his love, and his presence. I craved a connection that surpassed the superficial facade we had settled into. I wanted Jonah to see me as more than just a silent accomplice in his quest for the mayoral seat. I wanted him to truly see me, to understand the depths of my longing and the sacrifices I had made for him.

But how could I confront him? How could I make him understand the magnitude of my despair without jeopardizing the fragile equilibrium we had established?

The answers eluded me, swirling in the labyrinth of my thoughts. Yet, I knew I had to find a way to break free from this suffocating existence. I owed it to myself, to the woman who once dared to dream and believe in love's enduring power.


As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I made a silent promise to myself. I would no longer allow my desires and aspirations to fade into the background. I would reclaim my voice, my dreams, and the love I deserved.

There is a storm tonight. After several unanswered texts I became worried about Jonah. That's the thing about us women. We worry for them because we care but I find it interesting that the kids and I are in the same storm, and he didn't bother to call to see if we were ok. I lay quietly in our King size bed in this massive master suite. Alone. Worried. Wanting him by my side.

At three o'clock, I hear him tipping up the stairs. He climbed into bed and tried to ease under the covers but the smell of cognac and cigar smoke on his body had already awakened me. But during his sleep, as he dreamed of things which are never shared with me, he mentioned the name Ava.

"Ava, stop. Someone may see us." That's what he said while he was asleep during thunder strikes and rain tapping our bedroom window like rock pebbles.

Women. We have to be smart. We can't react immediately when truth is presented to us. We have to get over the instant shock of the matter and process what is happening very quickly. Then, we have to store the information that we've received to be used at the most opportune time.

Disappointed and hurt, the next morning I woke up and the started the day like I always do. The cycle always repeats itself. I fixed breakfast for the kids, cleaned the kitchen, and when my beautiful husband came downstairs, his coffee was just the way he prefers it.

I even kissed him and told him, "Have a good day babe." When he drove off, I don't know what annoyed me the most. The fact that another woman is clearly on his mind or the fact that the dinner I prepared for him last night was still in the microwave, untouched.

I know how to play this game. I've been playing it for a very long time. But this time, the rules of the game are about to change.

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