Impure

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“I’m sorry Dan…” Deborah said. She rose to her feet from the king-sized bed and began to move in his direction, dragging along the flowing white designer gown she wore. “Please, don’t do this to me, I’m begging you.”

Daniel backed away, shifting his gaze from the floor back to the pink-colored card in his sturdy hands. He glanced through the card, shook his head before raising it so that his gaze fell right on the mirror in front of him.

“I’m sorry too Deborah, but we must seek a divorce,” he replied and slowly stood up, turning to look at her in the eyes, his stare so intense as though he was searching for a piece of himself and hoped not to find it. He took her hands and held them tightly. “Can’t you see? It’s not gonna work.”

She stared back at him and in that moment she wanted to smoothen those frown lines on his face but she couldn’t. Just then, the dam she had been holding back finally burst open, the tears rolling down her cheeks until they slowly dripped down and she felt them on her bosoms.

She snatched her hands away from his grip, slowly raising her left hand while she stared down at her ring finger, remembering how it all started at the sight of the wedding ring.

That night they had gone out to dine at Genesis restaurant. That night she would collapse and fall into his arms at every joke he made, basking in the sweet apple fragrance of his perfume. That night he knelt in front of her, holding out a ring, asking her to marry him. That night she cried because she knew he most probably would not want to take a woman with a strange disease as a wife, a woman who cannot spend a day without her medications. That night he swore to stand by her side all through the days of their lives. That night he assured her that her disease didn’t count. That night which led to the day he walked her down the aisle. The day she was so consumed with happiness that she forgot to take her pills. The day that begot the night it happened. The night she fell with her back, her head crashing against the marble floor, convulsing, fuming whitish foam from her mouth. The day that begot the night it happened. The night that was supposed to be their honeymoon, but instead was this heartbreaking moment.

Now he was leaving and never coming back. Footsteps brought her back to the present, and she watched as he walked out of the door, slamming it so hard it startled her. She wiped off the tears with the back of her hand and ran over to a tray which the room service had served on the table. She picked up a knife and held it up high, staring into the mirror in front of her. Even though hers was a face many had fallen for, all she saw at that moment was shame and disappointment.

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