bifurcation (v.) - the division or separation into two parts or branches.

A woman sitting in a chair, knitting. Her hands remain moving throughout the whole speech, independent of what she is saying, no matter what her intensity or her passivity, the rhythm of her hands remains the same, constant.

WOMAN

In my life, the hardest thing I ever had to deal with, was when my husband left me for another woman. I had expected it, of course, in some way that I cannot truly understand or explain. He had never given me any reason to be suspicious, but perhaps it was that lack of any reason which made me most suspicious. His affectation was always one of a doting and devoted partner and lover, but it was only that--affectation. A pretense. Something put on. [pause] No one else saw through it but me. My friends said that I was out of my mind. That I was paranoid. That I was looking for signs of betrayal when there were none to find. They said that I was afraid of believing that someone could love me, be true to me. Why would I be afraid of that? Nonsense! My sisters thought that I was becoming my mother, that I was going to drive him away in the same way she had driven away our father. Nonsense! And she had had every right to drive him away. I hadn't seen it then, but I could now. His innocent friendships. His late nights! The flowers. The apologies. He would beg her, demand that she be reasonable, that she see that she was imagining it, that his infidelities were only a fiction in her mind! That he loved her and only her. But aren't those the very arguments of the guilty man, guilty with the sin of his deviation, deviation from his vows, his promises, his, his...[pause; the rhythm of her knitting remains constant, unchanged; a change in her voice, somewhat calmer, softer] The same was true of my Howard. [with spite and venom] My Howard. As if he was ever mine. As if any man is ever any woman's. There is a sickness in their sex. A dis-ease. A dis-order. [again, more passive, calm] The same was true of Howard. He would come to me on bended knee, kiss the inside of my hand, bury his head in my lap and cry tears, real tears, tears that revealed to me his passion, his passion for me, his love, his devotion! [again, bitter anger] Tears of an actor! A trained actor! Trained in lies, deception, and the art of persuasion. [soft] But you believed him, didn't you? You believed him, or at least wanted to believe him--[again, bitter] Wanted to! Wanted to but didn't! [again, soft, regretful] Wanted to with all my heart. [bitter] But not your brain! Never your brain! Never your mind, your intelligence, your wits! [soft] My feelings. [hard] Feelings! Weakness! Un-suffer-able weakness! The weakness of woman! [soft again, with deep regret] The love between two people... [bitter] The deceptions of man! [softer still] ...and the loneliness of being alone. [pause] The loneliness. [long pause, through with the pace of her hands continues, unchanged, in stark contrast to the turbulence of her speech; when she speaks again it is with a more moderate tone] Did I make a mistake? Was I too hard on him? Did I drive him away? Could he no longer suffer the cruelty of my suspicions? Did he leave me--or did I...leave him? [pause] No. [pause] No! He. Left. Me. For her. Just like they all do. [pause] Just like they all do. [looking up] You'll see. It will happen to you, too. It will happen to all of you. And then you'll be just like me. Just like everyone. Alone. [that softness returns again, tears?] Alone.

She sits in silence, except for the sound, as she continues knitting, with that same steady hand, as the lights go down.