When the daylight has faded

Scars (#root)

Slowly, I fold away the last of the clean shirts, wondering when I will see him again – or indeed if I will see him again. My eyes fill with tears. The wardrobe doors close quietly. I look up into the mirror over the dresser, trying to shake the sense of finality that has crept up on me again.

The feeling is nothing new to me. I don't know why it gets me every time he leaves into the unknown. So far, he's always come home, sometimes after a few weeks, sometimes after long months of spotty communication.

I smile, remembering how often he's turned up again like a forged fiver that mysteriously keeps finding its way back into your purse. Suddenly, he'd be there. A big grin on his face, his eyes a littler duller with every new return. The expression on his face so reminiscent of the reflection I'm staring at in the mirror right now.

Day 1. No idea how many more to go.

"No, baby, there can't be any contact this time," he had said softly, just before he left, his body twitchy and restless. These spasms are growing in intensity, a little worse with every absence, no matter how long or short. "The gangs are becoming more and more brutal. One great punishment for informants and cops is gangraping a female family member. I'm not risking your safety! Or Milly's!"

"But you're risking yours!" I had fired back, desperately trying to understand why he would do this to himself, to us, again and again. Despite the danger, despite the physical scars he has accumulated over the last seven years and despite the twitches, tics and insomnia he cannot hide from me anymore, but refuses to discuss. He's fine, he insists whenever I try to address the problem. His annual psych eval proves it, he says. I'd say his annual psych eval is a lot of horseshit.

"And what for?" I had cried. "For every drug lord you take down, five others will pop up. It's a war you cannot win!"

"You're right," he had conceded. "The root of all evil is opportunity. And there's a lot of opportunity. But these killers' victims and their victims' families deserve justice. Milly deserves to grow up in a safe place."

He had planted a kiss on my nose and disappeared into the morning.

I agree. Killers must be brought to justice. But why always by him? Milly does deserve a safe country to live in. But why is it always him who makes it safe? He has given enough. We have given enough. The root of my little family's evil is his sense of duty and justice. I used to think it was a blessing, a trait I loved and admired. But it is destroying him before my very eyes. I want to scream at him: Does Milly not deserve a father as well?

The telephone rings. My body spasms. My hands are shaking so much that I nearly drop the stupid thing.

'He's only just left. He's fine!' I tell myself sternly.

Looking up in prayer, I stab the answer button.