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Della had finally had enough. She no longer lived but merely existed. In her late forties, she was far from past her sell by date but she could hardly suppress the panic and despair she felt at the thought that this was it this is as good as life got. She'd married young, to a then handsome man called Peter and for a while they'd been happy together, love's young dream. Years passed, they had children, the children grew up and moved away and with it went the love and desire from their relationship. It seemed as if over night her husband had lost all virility, turning into an old man before her eyes. She was no spring chicken herself but she had always made the effort, tried to look good. But for what? Peter certainly wasn't interested anymore. They didn't even sleep in the same room these days let alone make love. It wasn't for want of trying on Della's part. She'd paid for several dirty weekends away for them both (Peter had either cried off blaming work commitments or had fallen asleep after too many drinks in the hotel bar), had spent hundreds on sexy lingerie and outfits to tease him out of his hermit's cave only to be brushed off and called an attention seeker. When she had suggested they see a therapist together he had flown into a rage and not spoken to her for days after. All these disastrous attempts at rekindling some sort of passion had left Della feeling severely deflated. She felt insanely hurt at first, then the hurt gave way to resentment. She felt unloved, unwanted, like a child who competes for attention only to be ignored or rebuffed.

Della felt like she was withering away, she may as well have turned ...

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