As the smoke trickles into my nose, I try desperately to hold back a cough 
I can feel my face turning blue as I hold my breath 
I feel sick, 
The cigarette tangled in my wife’s fingers dies out after several drags 
The smoke finally clears and my throat feels rough. 
 Nonetheless, I can breathe once more 
My wife lights another cigar 
The relief I felt immediately goes away 
She does not see how conflicted I am. 
I hold my breath again. 
 I know my face has gone purple from lack of oxygen 
She tells me she’s sorry when she sees the hue of blood in my cheeks 
Before taking her first drag from her freshly lit cigarette. 
There is a lack of shame as she inhales and exhales the smoke. 
I don’t like that my wife smokes 
I’ve never liked it 
Everywhere we go she pulls out a cigarette and lights it. 
The chipping sound of her lighter I can hear from far away 
I don't know how many times I have sighed upon hearing the sound 
My wife smokes to relieve stress. 
But what does she have to stress over? 
She lives in her own perfect little world where she can do whatever she wants 
Is she stressed over work? 
Our kids? 
Her desire to smoke has left me no desire for her love 
I hate that she does not care that our kids can see her smoking 
I hate that she does not consider the second-hand smoke  
Our kids' tiny little lungs already tainted by it 
She does not care. 
I stay at her side despite the hatred I feel. 
But why? 
Maybe it’s for the kids’ sake? 
I refuse to break their little hearts  
They don’t deserve unhappy separated parents  
I am unsure what to do, 
I feel so trapped, stressed even, 
My mind is swirling with all these conflicted feelings  
The desire to drown everything out in the moment has made me realize that... 
I could really use a drink right now. 
Maybe two 
Or three.