The words of Alfred Lord Tennyson echoed in my mind, taunting me with their bitter truth. Love is a double-edged sword, capable of both healing and destroying. But for me, it had only brought pain and loss.
I envied those who had never experienced the agony of a broken heart. My own heart shattered into a million pieces when my wife was taken from me in the most cruel way possible. Murdered, stolen from me forever. And yet, her memory lingered on, haunting me with a connection so deep it felt like a physical weight on my chest.
The pain of her absence was unbearable, a never-ending ache that plagued my every waking moment. But it was the nightmares that truly tormented me, jerking me awake with her name on my lips, drenched in a cold sweat.
My psychiatrist called it "broken heart syndrome," a condition that could kill an elderly woman mourning the loss of her spouse. But I was young, healthy, and strong. A fighter, in more ways than one. Yet the pain threatened to consume me, to break me beyond repair.
To make matters worse, my wife was carrying our twins when she was taken from me. The thought of never getting to see them grow up, never getting to hold them in my arms, was almost too much to bear.
But life had other plans. Plans that included losing everything I held dear, one painful blow at a time. First my parents, then my wife and unborn children. There were moments when I contemplated joining them, in the afterlife. But every time I tried to board that train, her voice stopped me, telling me it wasn't my time.
I begged and pleaded with her, tears streaming down my face, but she remained resolute. So I soldiered on, trying to find new meaning and purpose in a world that felt empty without her.
Writing our love story was my attempt to keep her memory alive, to share the moments that made me fall in love with her in the first place. But it was also a way to try and solve her murder, to bring her justice and closure.
As I poured my pain onto the page, I prayed that somehow, someway, my soul could find joy again. But the more I prayed, the more I felt like my prayers were falling on deaf ears.
Yet still, I held onto hope, no matter how small. Hope that someone, or something, was out there, listening to my desperate pleas for solace. Hope that someday, somehow, the pieces of my shattered heart would be put back together again.
YOU ARE READING
Intuition
ActionMorpheus Jones, aka Mojo, was a fierce fighter in the MMA world, driven by a fire within. But when the love of his life, Joceline Jovel-Jones, became pregnant, he left his career to become a devoted house husband. Tragically, during his last fight...
