The Lobotomist’s Wife by Samantha Greene Woodruff EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Author: Samantha Greene Woodruff
- Genre: Psychological Literary Fiction, Psychological Fiction
- Publish Date: 1 February 2022
- Size: 2 MB
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Avail for Download
- Price: Free
1952
Margaret looked around at the gaggle of friends and neighbors occupying her
living room. This was quite a good turnout for her first presentation, and she
knew she should be elated. But she wasn’t. All she could think about, as she
tried to chat with Mrs. Millhouse, was how the skin around her stomach
created bulges in the nipped waist of her favorite dress.
She could barely
breathe. Maybe she should have listened to her mother and worn the more
forgiving canary-yellow shift that Frank had bought her. Damn Frank. She
knew he was trying to be kind, to make her feel good, happy, beautiful again.
Instead, she felt like he had given up on her. Did he now think of her, at only
twenty-seven years old, as one of those women who needed a wardrobe
designed to hide the flaws in her figure?
She looked jealously at Carolyn Carterson, her tiny waist accentuated
by that pink belt. Eight weeks ago, they had both delivered babies. Yet, there
Carolyn was, back in her prepregnancy clothes, her rich auburn hair curled
just so. Margaret, on the other hand, had required the assistance of her mother
to zip her dress. And her hair, once a lovely golden blond and soft as the silk
tassels on her curtain pulls, was now dull and unable to hold a proper curl.
She had pinned on a small Miriam Lewis hat to cover the mess, which she
also hoped distracted from the dullness of her face. She hated to look in the
mirror these days—she couldn’t escape the fact that the bright blue of her
eyes, one of her best features before pregnancy (and typically made even
brighter by the robin’s-egg hue of the dress she was wearing today), had
transformed into a washed-out gray. The rosy complexion that used to make
her look as though she had just come in from an afternoon of ice skating had
gone sallow; even with the bright red lipstick she had chosen for today, she
looked ghostlike. Not Carolyn, who sparkled from head to toe as she stood by
the coffee service, laughing easily. Margaret felt like a cloud of fog,
darkening everything in her path.
She felt her nose begin to tingle and the tears start to form in the corners
of her eyes. Not now. Oh, please, not now. She made fists and dug her sharp
nails—she had barely forced herself to clip them, let alone paint them with
the red polish she had purchased for the occasion—deep into her palms to
distract herself from the sadness, all while smiling bigger at Mrs. Millhouse.
This was not a time for melancholy. The baby was with Margaret’s mother.
The older children were at school. This was her time. The beginning of the
next chapter in her life, where she could be more than Frank’s wife or John,
Maisy, and William’s mother again.
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