Ulysses - Chapter 19
Bloom entered the bedroom where Molly lay sleeping. The bed was warm, rumpled from her afternoon activities. He could smell Boylan's presence, the evidence of their encounter impossible to ignore.
He examined the bed carefully, noting every detail with scientific detachment. The sheets were disturbed, the pillows displaced. He found a small stain, proof of what had occurred. The knowledge settled in his stomach like lead.
Molly stirred but didn't wake. Bloom looked at her in the dim light, seeing the woman he had married so many years ago. She was still beautiful, still desirable. He understood why Boylan wanted her, why any man would.
He thought about their marriage, about how they had drifted apart over the years. The death of Rudy had changed everything, had created a distance between them that neither could bridge. They hadn't made love properly in over ten years.
Could he blame Molly for seeking comfort elsewhere? She was a passionate woman with normal desires. He had failed to satisfy her, had withdrawn into himself after Rudy's death. Perhaps this was inevitable.
Bloom undressed quietly and climbed into bed beside his wife. The sheets were cool on his side, warm on hers. He lay still, listening to her breathing, feeling the familiar weight of her body next to his.
He thought about asking her to make love, about trying to reclaim what they had lost. But he knew it wouldn't happen. The moment wasn't right, the wounds too fresh. Perhaps tomorrow, or next week, or never.
Instead, Bloom kissed Molly's bottom, a gesture of affection and acceptance. She was his wife, for better or worse. He would stay with her, would continue their imperfect life together.
Sleep came slowly, bringing strange dreams and half-formed thoughts. The day was finally over.