[Intro - spoken, calm, too calm, to audience] _He thinks I don’t know. Men always think that._ [Verse 1 - piano only, clipped, housewife rhythm, bitter control] I iron his collars every morning at six I take out the creases, I take out the tricks I find little things that don’t belong to me Ribbons... poems... philosophy I put them back where he can find them I wash his shirts and I don’t remind him That once he looked at me that way Before the war... before the grey [Pre-Chorus - cello enters, truth leaking through] I am not a fool, I am not a child I was twenty once, and I was wild I know what a man looks like when he’s fed And my husband’s been starving since nineteen-sixty-said He comes home humming... he hasn’t in years He says my name like it’s a prayer... through tears And I... [Chorus - strings enter, not sad yet - FURIOUS, controlled fury] I am the other woman in this house The one he comes home to, the one he calls spouse The one he pities, the one he tends The one who waits while his real life ends At eight o’clock at some café With some girl who makes him feel a way I used to... I used to... I am the other woman now [Verse 2 - orchestra builds, she pulls his coat on, smells it] It’s rain. And smoke. And cheap red wine. And something else... something like... springtime He walks in soaked and he doesn’t see He’s brought her weather home to me The doctor says the spots are back The doctor says the treatment’s lack The doctor says to get things straight But how do I compete with fate? With nineteen? With poetry? With time? I have a body that’s a crime And she... she has a life... [Pre-Chorus - bigger, anger cracking into grief] I should hate her. I should hate him. I should throw his books into the Seine. I should scream until the walls come in But then... then who would hold me through the pain? [Chorus - repeat, modulation UP, now tragic not angry] I am the other woman in this house The one he leaves to go and find Some version of himself he lost Before the war, before the blind Before me... God forgive me... before me He hums now. He touches my hand. He looks at me like I’m a person, not a plan So tell me... who’s the other woman now? Who’s the other woman now? [Bridge - breakdown, orchestra cuts, she sits, exhausted, finds the letter draft he never sent] _(reading, spoken)_: _"Mademoiselle... I did not come..."_ He wrote it. He didn’t send it. He chose me. Or... he chose the chains. Is there a difference? _(sung, barely whispered)_: I don’t know... I don’t know... [Final Chorus - just piano + solo violin, acceptance beginning] I am the other woman in this house But I am also the only one left When the rain stops... when the girl grows up... When the poetry runs out of breath He’ll come home. He always does. And I will be here. I always was. So maybe... maybe I win... By being the one he comes home to... again [Outro - she puts the letter back in his coat. Puts the flower in a vase. Looks at appointment card. Sits.] _(spoken to audience)_: _I heard the rain. I’m just not ready to forgive it yet._
