Pieces of real scattered the landscape of her days, jumbled among the lies, fantasies and imaginings he fed her. They were the moments when she knew with peace-shattering clarity the glaring truth of the matter. Those were the stabbing glimpses of authenticity when she knew without doubt that he did not ... and would never ... love her as she loved him. Then came the salvation of the blessed oblivion of the make-believe, the warm cocoon of habit and routine, cloaked in the comforting shroud of denial. She made the bed, descended the stairs, started the coffee and pretended it was real when he kissed her and said "Good morning, Baby".
Then when he told her of the upcoming business trip, she smiled and pretended that was real, too.