I don’t exactly remember when it started. When I started doubting her.
I regret listening to the whispering voices that were slowly poisoning my brain and heart with putrid suspicions. I regret believing them. I regret pushing her away. I regret breaking her heart and mine right along with it.
I think it all began one day when I saw her out for lunch with another guy – a guy that wasn’t me. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her but rather that she looked so happy. It hurt me. It made me feel not worthy of her. She never looked at me with that smile on her face or that sparkle in her eyes. But I chose to forget about that incident because I loved her and I thought I trusted her.
Thought.
However forgetting was easier said than done. From that day onwards I began seeing lies in her every word. Was she really going to meet her friends? Was she really working overtime? How much traffic could there really be? I started second guessing her every gesture. Did she look at anyone else that way? Did she smile for anyone else like that? Did she blush for anyone else? Soon my hurt turned into anger. I couldn’t bear to be around her and know that another man could make her feel the things that I couldn’t. So I started staying away more.
I’d leave early in the mornings before she woke and I would come back long after she had gone to bed. Most of the time my schedule worked as a supposed alibi but even my days off would be spent in the office to avoid her. My boss had never been happier with me. I had never been unhappier.
The few hours that I did occasionally spend at home would be spent one of two ways. I’d either sit on the balcony with a bottle of red to try and forget for a little while or I would hold her and stare at her as she slept. I’d wonder where I’d gone wrong. I’d done nothing but love her, I’d been good to her. I practically worshipped the ground she walked on but all she’d done was walk all over my heart.
I noticed the plates of dinner she always left out for me but I couldn’t bring myself to eat them, sure that all I would taste was her guilt and betrayal in every mouthful. I also noticed how miserable she was but in a perverse way it kind of made my happy. She’d lost a lot of weight and the dark circles under her eyes were starting to rival those of a certain team member of mine. Sometimes if I came home early enough I could still see the fresh tear tracks on her face. In her guilt she’d cried herself to sleep. Perhaps finally she was feeling a fraction of the pain I’d been carrying around with myself.
I came home on the anniversary of our first date though I doubted she remembered let alone gave a damn but to my surprise she’d cleaned the whole house, cooked my favourite dish and chilled my favourite wine for me. The dining table had been set and she’d even dressed up for me. She looked beautiful like she always did. It looked like she’d taken a day off work. Guilt, that must be why, I told myself.
I pulled her into the living room. I was frank. I spoke as little as I could because handing her the divorce papers and seeing her heart break in front of me was enough to break my own but I had to do this. I had to see if it was true. Even if it was true all I wanted from her was a confession. I loved her so much that I was willing to forgive her. But she kept her quiet. She gave me a few small nods.
That same night I left for Japan. I had a business trip and stayed there for a week. I was sure that by the time I’d come back she would have come to her senses and decided to confess to me but what I came home to was the complete opposite. All her things were gone; her wardrobe was cleared out and the wedding album and videos were gone. That’s when I fell to my knees and realised it was truly over.
I regret leaving her that night – divorcing her. It only took me a few weeks to realise that I’d made the biggest mistake of my life but by then it was far too late to fix it and all I could do was stare at the ruins of what my life used to be. I thought leaving her would free me from the constant ache in my chest and the nagging suspicions that plagued my head. I thought leaving her would make her confess to me and then we could work our problems out but I was wrong.
Soon after it was truly over I found out all my suspicions had been just that – suspicions. He came to me the week after I’d returned home in a rage. Finally, I thought, the truth was coming out. But then he explained. He told me that he had been her old best friend from high school and that she had been working overtime because she’d been helping him plan his wedding. The day I’d seen her out was the day she’d met his fiancée and his son. If only I’d watched her five minutes longer.
The ache in my chest had grown tenfold until it felt like my heart was slowly being ripped out. The nagging suspicions had transformed themselves into regret and remorse for how I’d treated her. Now all I could think about was her.
Had she found another man that would hold her when she was scared and laugh with her when she was happy? Someone else that would trust her inexplicably and make her happy? Had she found another man in whose arms she would sleep? It made me irrationally angry to contemplate another man doing all the things I was supposed to do with her but I knew I had no right to even think her name, let alone wonder if she’d found someone better than me.
