"I have to go now," Mike said tonelessly, "it's almost milking time."

"That's right," Sandra hurled, "go back to your damn cows… and your girlfriend!" Great gulping sobs convulsed her, and tears ran down her face as she stared at the departing figure of her husband. God, why does she have to cry like that? Mike shrugged as he slammed the door behind him. As always, he was moved by the sight and sound of her tears, and felt the guilt inside him strengthening with insidious speed. He would have liked to take her in his arms, caress and soothe her, stroke away her fears, in spite of her nagging and accusations, but somehow, he couldn't. He knew he was afraid that she'd reject his offering of peace, and felt that he couldn't stand the humiliation. If she wants to be like that, why should I be the one to give in? he reasoned angrily, as he hurried over to the barn.

Sandra crumpled like a rag doll onto the leather couch. Her sobs resounded in the small room, and the fading daylight cloaked everything in the office with ominous ambiguity. She felt small and alone and unprotected and totally incapable of drawing the strings of her life together. The woman who had screamed at and harangued her husband over a trivial incident was not the real Sandra Peters. The real Sandra was a loving, warm woman who stood by and encouraged her husband in all ventures. But who was that whining domineering shrew? I can't help it! she told herself again, burying her tear-stained face in her hands.

The vitriolic, stinging memory of her discovery of her husband's infidelity of over a year ago came rushing back with painful clarity – the humiliation, the feeling of complete insecurity, the anguish of it all was as fresh as if it had just happened. Even though they had made up, and she had sworn to forgive and forget, and Mike had tried, and was in fact a model husband since then, she couldn't purge herself of the bitter memory.