Story 29

She stepped out of the house with flowers in her hand. It was raining; just liked the day it had rained when they met for the first time, just like the time they had gone on their first date, just like the time when they kissed for the first time, just like when they made love for the first time, just like when he proposed marriage to her, just like when they got married and just like the day he died.

She opened her umbrella and walked towards the cemetery. It had been four years now, he lay here buried next to his two year old son, their son. She walked over to the graves and placed flowers on each and sat down. She placed a hand over the grave of their son, hoping, like always that he was happy wherever he was. She turned towards his grave thinking about the last conversation they had. It hurt each time when the memories sneaked out and accused her for being the cause of his death. 

She remembered their last conversation with shame and regret. They had fought that day. She demanded answers to her questions he tried to avoid; she had demanded to be loved the way he loved her once but did not love her anymore. They could never get over the death of their son. They should have mourned together but they did not. They mourned in their own ways, two different ways. She became lonely, he got busy in work. That day she had finally gotten tired of living the way she did. When he returned from work she had confronted him, demanding answers and he had taken the easy way out – the dangerous way out. He had gotten into his car and driven away; he met with an accident and was taken to a hospital where he was declared dead on admission. She never got the chance to say goodbye.

That day, crying in the hospital she wondered how things would have been; how their lives would have been had she not done what she had done. Perhaps she would have become lonelier, perhaps he would have become busier – but at least she would have had him next to her. If she had not been selfish that day he would have been alive.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt a kick in her belly and instinctively her hand moved over the bump and she felt it again. She looked towards the gate of the cemetery and there he was, standing – waiting for her. She stood up and walked towards him – towards the father of the child in her womb. He had been with her as she mourned the death of her first born. Had it not been for him, she would have gone insane. He was supportive, understood what it meant to be alone. When her husband was mourning in his own way, keeping himself busy; it had been his brother who had given her the support she needed. He had been the family she needed. He was the one who made her realize that she missed her husband. 
She remembered -

After the death of her husband as she lay in bed in the silence of the night she had wondered – had it not been for him, would she have demanded her husband to love her the way he once did? Had she not felt the tiniest lust towards her brother-in-law, would she have fought?

It had taken two years for her to find her way out. He tried to be there for her when her husband died but she had pushed him away on purpose. It had been for two reasons – one, she still did not know whether she would have confronted her husband had it not been for her body’s reaction to his presence and two, she still did not trust herself around him.

She had mourned the death of her husband alone. It had been unbearable. She had cried for days and nights, not allowing anyone in her house, in her life. He had tried to get in touch, but she had slammed the door shut on his face. Not knowing what his fault was, he had finally left her alone. 

One day, as she spent the morning cleaning the basement, putting her dead husband’s stuff away in boxes, she had come across his journal. She’d read then, sitting on the stairs of the basement – read about their happy lives, they marriage, their child and his death and about how things went downhill after that. She read about the night he had tried to get close to her, hoping to hold her close in his embrace and share the pain of their loss and how she had been crying, sleeping on her side with her back to him. She remembered – she had been crying; holding onto the photograph of her son in her embrace. How could she had left him out only to embrace her husband? At that moment it had felt so wrong. Thinking back to that time she realized that had been the breaking point of their marriage. 

She could not read anymore because of low light and blurred vision. She wiped her tears and walked out of the basement; sitting on the couch she had continued reading.

He’d written about how he coped with the loss of their child; he mentioned how lonely he was. He wrote about how his wife had been lucky to be able to share her pain with family. He had written that he did not think badly of her; he knew she loved him but he also knew that his brother loved her. He had loved her since the time the three of them had met for the first time. He wrote about how his brother had stepped back when he and she had fallen in love. 

He’d mentioned that he needed time to get intimate again. The kind of pain that they were going through was not the kind which one simply shrug off as if taking off a jacket because it was too uncomfortable – those were the last lines he had written in the diary.

She turned back to the previous page where he had written about her being lucky to be able to share the pain with the family. She read the part where he had mentioned that his brother loved her and because of his brother he knew that she would always be cared for and loved if ever anything were to happen to him. Fresh tears rolled on to her cheeks and she closed the journal.

She had then picked up the phone and dialed his number. She had asked to meet. She had decided to give him a chance to be family again. She had been punishing him for no fault of his and finally she had made up her mind to let him be around. Sometimes, she thought that she had taken undue advantage of his love for her. Had she done to someone else what she had done to him, that person would have not bothered to come back in her life. 

She had believed that it was not possible for her to fall in love again, she had believed that she could never have a relationship with him. One year ago her belief was proved wrong. She fell in love with him, rather she fell in love with the way he loved her. She loved being loved.

As she reached closer to the gates, he spread his arms and as she walked closer he embraced her and then kissed her. He looked towards the grave of his brother and nephew – he had visited them the previous day. Today belonged to her. He did not want to trespass. He knew that she needed this, she needed moments alone with them – her family that would always remain a part of her life no matter how many new people were added to it. 
He moved his hand over her belly and kissed her again.

Somewhere at the back of his mind he knew that she did not love him the way she had loved his brother and that she was with him because she believed he deserved the chance to be loved. 
He believed that one day she would love him not because he wanted her to but, because she wanted to.

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silent whispers

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