Our first daughter was conceived with the aid of fertility treatments. Unassisted by science, we had two more children.

Three daughters, a large house, staff, eight-cylinder cars with nameless men to keep them clean and everything else to create the illusion of perfection personified my married life.

The temperature inside the hall where we married reached over 80 degrees. Long standing precision crafted plans for the perfect wedding were thwarted by a broken air conditioner. The walk down the aisle seemed long. A last backward glance toward my parents signaled that I would momentarily leave my single life behind. I attributed his shaking hands to nerves.

The reception melted away and we were alone in the hotel. Tired? Exhausted? Was that a good enough reason to just go to sleep? We left for our honeymoon in the morning, seemingly looking like any other newly married couple. But we weren’t.

We swam, ate delicious food served by a jaded but still polite staff, and befriended another couple. I didn’t want to make friends with anyone. I wanted us to want only to want to be with each other. Ultimately we had dinner with that couple almost every night.

The last to leave the restaurant we eventually would be laying side by side. Still and quiet. He fell asleep. Deeply saddened and disappointed I endlessly tried to think of any valid reason why we weren’t having sex. That thought continued for the thirteen years we stayed together, and no one ever knew.

I sometimes wonder if his current wife asks that same question.

All artwork by Jill Slaughter

And this is what I know:

Are you one of the 40 million in a sexless marriage because he’s angry at you?

Divorce-is- it- in –your- future?