Her

 Trigger warnings- Death, depression, terminal illness.

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The sun had gone down and the city had gotten more vibrant with the bright lights. He sits on the couch. The curtains shield the windows, restricting most of the light from entering the room.A streak of light shines between the curtains, into the room, illuminating a part of the floor.

The kids are asleep. It was a tiring day for everyone. He is tired, very much so but he couldn't sleep; not without seeing glimpses of her.He believed in fate. He believed that everything happened for a reason and that life threw challenges to strengthen one. But, this; this he couldn't bear. Life cannot play such cruel games with him, with his family, or whatever part of it that's left.

His house is quiet. He could hear his own heartbeat. His eyes are bloodshot, tears from before makes his eyes have a sheen to it. He doesn't cry anymore, he couldn't . It is a state of numbness, one would even mistake it for acceptance , accepting the challenge-the ruthless challenge that "fate" had thrown at him .

He sits there, for how long he doesn't know. He can't help but have flashbacks. Each and every article in his house-in their house- reminds him of her. Memories; some good,some bad.

He remembers the time that they had gotten the coffee table, resting in front of the couch he is currently occupying. He didn't like it then, he doesn't like it now. She did though, it was her favourite.

He remembers the fight they had, (five years ago, or was it four?) about which coffee table to buy.She was adamant on getting this one, the wooden one, plain but classy. He wanted something modern but like most of the time she won the argument.

Their marriage was a rocky one. Rocky would be an understatement. It was like climbing a mountain, always competing to reach the peak first. He doesn't hate her. He believes that he didn't love her either. She always had to get her way. She made everything into a competition. At least that's how he feels she did.He doubts if it was just him defending his inferiority complex. He knows that she hated him.It was an arranged marriage anyways, he thinks trying to justify his stance.

He looks around, it is dark but he doesn't need light to see the details, he knows ,hell, they have been living together in this flat for five years, of course he had to know. But every object he lays his eyes on triggers a new memory, or several of them, always of her. He remembers her getting new fridge magnets, he thought they were an unwanted accessory, but she argued that she wanted to pin up the drawings on the fridge using these magnets.

Kids. They had two children. Both are girls, of years eight and three. They are beautiful little girls. He loves them, oh he does, more than anything. He doesn't know how they deal with their sorrow. They are kids -for god's sake- fate can't punish them too. Oh, it is not a punishment, no, it is a challenge. Uncertainty washes over him. He doesn't know what the future holds for them. He doesn't know how he will deal with his little girls. She was the bond. The glue that stuck the whole family together. He knows that he will never be enough. He hates her for leaving the kids. For leaving him. Forever.

It was her funeral today, exhausting it was. He remembers blurs of faces, offering him condolences. It is ironic how a lot of people attend the funeral of someone. They know that they won't be asked for anything. They know that they don't need to give anything. If their feelings were genuine, then why didn't they help them, when they were trying to barely make ends meet?

He wasn't rich neither was she. They had fights every month about paying bills and whatnot.

He remembers six months ago, how she vomited and fainted from exhaustion. They had rushed to the hospital. Blood was drawn.Tests were run.