I sit here, and all I can do is stare at her mangled body.
The way her arms hang rigid at her sides, and the way her head is tilted as if she were smiling directly at me.
I’m sorry.
It’s all my fault.
We were so happy, we had just gotten married three months before. She insisted on having the perfect wedding any woman could ever dream of. A white tiered cake with a bride and groom figurine on top, she even got them custom made to look like us.
She insisted on wearing her Mother’s billowy wedding dress, it was coated in specks of silver and golden glitter that traced from her collar bone and faded into a layer of lace at her hips. The dress even had a matching gold tiara with a veil attached. At the time I thought it was preposterous, but when I saw her walk down the aisle of red velvet my heart practically leaped out of my chest.
She looked so beautiful.
She IS beautiful.
She always tied up her honey blond hair while she was painting, she loved to paint all kinds of different things, but she mainly did flowers, orchids and daisies were her favourite. She said she loved the way their petals looked so soft and fragile. ‘Pieces of Heaven on earth’, she used to call them.
Since we met, on every Valentines Day I would buy here a bouquet of roses, but she would always get disappointed that they weren’t daisies and one day she rejected them and insisted I buy her daisies instead. Ever since then I went and hand picked a bunch of them for her every Valentines Day, I even planted some in our garden once we moved in together.
Almost immediately after our honeymoon in Mexico she mentioned to me that she wanted to have kids. At the time I didn’t feel like we were ready to have kids, but she was so passionate about them. Even before we got married she would always talk about having kids. She always said that she wanted two boys and two girls. Even though I felt we were not ready, I still said yes.
Two weeks ago we found out my wife was pregnant.
She was filled with joy!
But something inside of me broke when she said those two words. “I’m pregnant!”
I felt betrayed, how could I ever be a Father?
How could she, my own wife, ever trust ME to be a Father? I know I said yes, I know I agreed to have a child, but I can’t!
Not now! I-It’s just too much! I’m sorry…
Now I sit here and look at her decrepit body.
“I’m so so sorry. I didn’t mean to, please forgive me!” I say past loud sobs.
“I didn’t mean to break our vows! I’m sorry!” I scream.
Her still expression mocks me, makes fun of me.
I just want to hug her, to feel her warmth, but I know that if I hug her…
Her hug will be stone cold.
I can hear her voice in my head, echoing to me always.
‘Why did you do it? Why did you break our vows? Why? Why? Why did you sleep with her?’
A river of salty tears stream down my face. I hold her cold lifeless hand in my own.
“I-I’m so sorry. I wasn’t ready to be a Father! I didn’t know what else to do! Please… Please forgive me.” My heart drops to my stomach and butterflies twirl around it.
The night she found out I was with another woman, we had a huge fight.
Her soft face was all crunched up and her expression was inflamed. I told her I was sorry, that I just needed to escape and that seemed like the only option, but she didn’t believe me, she just yelled at me, and accused me of not loving her.
I tried to convince her it wasn’t true, that I did love her! But she wouldn’t listen to me. She walked up the stairs and started to pack some of her belongings into a small suitcase. I told her not to go, but she just yelled at me in return. I grabbed her wrist and forced her to listen to me.
“I LOVE YOU.” I yelled. She struggled for me to let go of her, but I couldn’t. She was going to leave me here, alone, without her.
She squinted her teary eyes as she broke my grip from her wrist. She tried running past me and down the hall. I followed her to the stairs. I demanded that she stay there, that she stay with me. Her husband. She just ignored me and started down the stairs.
But I couldn’t let her leave me, my beautiful angel was walking away from me! She was leaving and I would never see her again! I couldn’t let that happen.
So I grabbed her arm as she walked down the stairs, she pushed away from me but I held my grip tight this time. She yelled at me, and screamed until her voice was sore enough to bleed. I said nothing, just embraced her words no matter how loud and harsh they were.
Then her last words escaped her mouth.
”You are not my husband.” And I pushed her down the stairs. I stood there and watched her neck snap as she hit the landing.
“Now you can’t ever leave me.” My lips gently touch the side of her cheek, a single tear slides down my nose and lands on her rough skin. Her dead body sits slumped over in a chair in the living room. It has been only a week since the argument and she still has not forgiven me.
“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”