Length: 200 words exactly
I have had six abortions, and my husband does not know. That is not my secret.
I am ostensibly respected by those around me, yet I know that they regard me as contemptible. That is not my secret either.
I offer precisely the appropriate level of respect to those who loathe my privileged position, married to the next chief executive. Without hesitation, I accompany my husband to the functions he must attend, my obvious love shining through for all to see. I say the right things, laugh at the correct times at jokes I've heard fifty times before, and greet my father, the Chairman of the Board, with perfectly judged joyous affection, not too ostentaciously. No, none of those are my secret.
All of these things I do, and accept as the cost of the luxury I enjoy. There's no secret involved nor fooling myself. I merely share the life of a trophy wife with others of my age, beauty and experience.
I've seen them cry, late at night, when they think no-one can see them.
But I no longer care.
And I no longer care that I no longer care.
I'm pretty sure I should keep that secret though...
© Lee Barnett, 2010
This story is part of the 2010 Fast Fiction Challenge. New challenges can be made here.
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