It's plainly obvious to good and decent people . . . 
I'll bet poor dear Marta's getting impatient for the
denouement, which should've happened a long time ago now, if the big guy had kept his promise.
One can imagine her sitting in front of the mirror of the vanity in their bedroom, applying lipstick and mascara, thinking of the guys she's going to meet, once she's widowed, and that maybe this second time around, this husband'll treat her much better than the big guy has.
And then when she's about done cosmetologizing herself, she looks over to the quivering man-mountain laying on the bed, covered by blankets, spasmodically expelling intestinal gas.
"Come on, big boy," she thinks to herself, "you promised, and it's past time....."