Escapism Versus Reality.

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Escapism Versus Reality

Driving the first ten miles in silence she sat, pale faced reliving the argument, which had taken, place the previous evening. He, only too aware of the guilt she felt and the anguish deep inside her body, concentrated on the winding road ahead.

She’d been thinking and planning this weekend break for weeks. My escapism she nicknamed it, as she organised the childminding, booked the hotel, bought new underwear and then like a bolt from hell Paul, her beloved husband had thrown a spanner in the works.

Staring through the windscreen in front of her, she recalled how precise he had been with his excuses. Even now remembering the devilish look on his face as Paul said, “Darling, I’m sorry but your weekend is off. I have to work!”

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She couldn’t believe it. All her careful planning and organisation wasted.

“Work my ass!” she’d thought to herself, “More likely that floozy of a secretary, with her short black skirt and her big tits!”

She’d been down this road before and she certainly wasn’t going down it again. Paul’s antics weren’t going to spoil this weekend; it was far too precious to her. Nothing would!

She’d sat for almost an hour last night in their bedroom, that very same room where she’d found the evidence of his illicit affair. Had that only been six months ago? Hadn’t she ...

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