I lie alone in the dark. Listening and waiting for the key in the lock, the footsteps on the stairs. He has been with his mistress. Her name is Vodka. The pubs are now closed. He returns to me. His wife.

I am cold, frigid and sexless, that is why he drinks.

I am none of these.

Our marriage is sexless now because I cannot bear the stench of alcohol, the fumbling gropes and kisses. Each night when he enters my bed, I pray sleep will overcome him.

Which of us is right?

I can not truthfully answer.