The Wives

by Tarryn Fisher

Fighting was the sandpaper that smoothed out the first years of a relationship. Sure, there was still plenty of lifelong grit after that, but the fighting stripped everything down, let the other person know what was important to you.

They’re polygamists, for God’s sake. Not the kind we are, either. They all live together and wear odd clothes and raise children collectively like they’re some sort of rabbit-fucking hive.

women are stuck in a cycle of insecurity perpetuated by the way men treat them, and we are constantly fighting to prove to ourselves and everyone else that we are okay.

Waiting...waiting...that’s what women do. We wait for him to get home, we wait for him to pay attention to us, wait to be treated fairly—for our worth to be seen and acknowledged. Life is just a waiting game for women.

Something feels wrong, but I don’t know what.

I was waiting for someone to see me.

We busy ourselves trying not to be lonely, trying to find purpose in careers, and lovers, and children, but at any moment, those things we work so hard to possess could be taken from us. I feel better knowing I’m not alone, that the whole world is as fragile and lonely as I am.