Marines second chance marriage to the nurse

"Did you ever, even once, imagine yourself loving me?" Sarah inquired, her voice laced with hope as she gazed into Philip's unyielding countenance. 

"Don't make me laugh, Sarah. Everything between us has been purely about pleasure and business."  

With a heavy heart, she affixed her signature to the divorce papers, clinging to a glimmer of hope that one day, she would find a man who would adore and worship her worthiness. 

*** 

Sarah  

On a quiet night at Serenity Pines Estate, where I've made my home for three years, the door’s 'click' announced my husband's arrival—Philip Cornell, who's competing for the presidency of Luminary Productions, an entertainment company. 

Rising from the sofa, my customary perch, where I often waited for his return, I glanced at the wall clock; its hands whispered the lateness of the hour—already one in the morning. 

The heavy wooden door swung open, revealing Philip's unsteady form. A waft of alcohol preceded him, mingling with the stillness of the night. His arm draped over the shoulder of his assistant, Alexander Davies. 

"What happened to him?" was the question I managed to ask Alex. 

"Madam, I'm truly sorry. Something happened. Boss Philip had drunk too much," he replied. He refrained from offering further details, as was often the case, despite my desire to express concerns about the increasing frequency of Philip's drunken returns in recent days. 

"Please help me! Let's take him to the room." 

Alex and I worked in tandem, helping Philip to the bedroom. With his considerably heavier body in contrast to my own, which was significantly smaller, I felt as though my bones might shatter and bruises would surely mark my skin. 

Both Alex and I were panting heavily as we carefully laid his boss down on the bed. 

"Th-thank you!" 

With a simple smile, the assistant made his way toward the door, poised to leave Serenity Pines Estate. It was a rare moment of conversation between us, akin to those I share with my husband, Philip. 

I gingerly removed Philip's shoes and socks, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Next came his polo, a task I could only accomplish in his unconscious state. 

How long had I harbored these forbidden fantasies about him? My husband, so physically near yet emotionally distant, bound by the unspoken rule that we mustn't intrude upon each other's lives. 

As I finally succeeded in stripping off his polo, he vomited violently, the acrid stench filling the air. My stomach churned in sympathy, threatening to betray me as well. With sheer willpower, I fought back the urge to vomit as my tears of frustration pooling in my eyes. 

We do not employ household help, primarily because of my personal preference. However, maids from the Cornell household visit three times a week to assist with cleaning at Serenity Pines Estate. 

I cleaned up the sour and nauseating mess he had expelled from his mouth beside the bed. 

Three years ago, my mother-in-law asserted that our duty as women was to serve our husbands. I hoped that by fulfilling this duty, Philip would notice or perhaps view me as a woman who loves him deeply. 

As I gathered cleaning supplies to tackle the mess, tears welled in my eyes, swept up by the overwhelming weight of the situation I found myself in. 

How much longer must I endure this? How much longer will I tolerate waiting for the overflowing love I've poured into my husband to be reciprocated?  

Yet, amidst this turmoil, there's Philip, whom I cherish deeply. I've already relinquished so much for him, will his mere sickly discharge be the breaking point for my resolve?