She never knew that he wept everytime – Jude Idada | A Deep Short Story

She never knew that he wept everytime she left.

Her boss.

He would sit behind the close door of his office, run all that she had told him through his mind and the tears would flow.

The pain was visceral.

Burned hot like tumultous lava.

Somewhere deep inside.

He couldn’t understand why a soul so lovely and wonderful could be treated so badly by the one she loved.

Beaten like a pinata.

And left with cuts, welts, bumps and bruises.

Which she hid with make up, scarves, sunglasses and long sleeve tops.

No matter what he said to her.

She couldn’t break free.

Her vows were life to her.

And she would say.

“Only death can do us part.”

She was two levels beneath him.

Shared her sorrows only to him after swearing him to silence.

The others at work, looked at her as the quintessential colleague, friend, wife and mother.

A human who no one had ever seen lose her composure.

Gentle, calm, always reassuring with a warm welcoming smile and a well placed word of support in a soft voice.

And he would listen to them praise her.

While cringing inside from the injustice of it all.

When in response, she would say that the secret to calmness and joy was her everly supportive husband.

People praised only what they saw and weren’t discerning enough to see the sadness in her eyes even while she laughed, smiled and lied.

So they all said they wished for their sisters and daughters, a husband like hers.

But he wanted to correct them.

To tell them the truth behind the facade.

But he could not.

He could not break the promise he had made to her.

He who treated his own wife like a jewel.

And expected same from all men.

But her husband was a lout.

Jobless and vile.

Violent and uncontrollable.

The higher his wife rose, the more it brought out the animal in him.

So bad that she couldn’t tell him of the promotions she got.

Or the raises in salary she received.

She just paid the bills.

And funded his neverending unprofitable projects.

His dreams which he hung around her neck like a noose.

His dreams which she had to celebrate as their dreams.

To those who existed outside their marriage.

Everyone save her boss.

The only one she trusted and loved so fraternally.

The only one who was her family instead of her own family who were more interested in the title of ‘married’ than in the condition of ‘happy.’

And when she received news that she had been promoted to head her division.

A step below that of CEO.

A double promotion.

Being that her boss was resigning to relocate abroad.

And had fought for her to replace him.

It was his way of support.

Of cheering her on.

She was scared.

But had to pretend to be overjoyed at work.

When she got home.

It was the art of acting that nothing pleasant had happened at work that came into fore.

No smiles.

Just a greeting and the question.

“Have you eaten?”

Was as usual her intended action.

As she got home earlier than usual.

Until she saw her husband.

With the house maid.

Naked.

On her matrimonial bed.

While the kids were out at the neighbours.

And she lost it.

Rage.

She attacked.

Furiously.

Punches, kicks, bites, scratches and a stab in the neck with a broken piece of a vase that was on the bed stand.

It severed one of the carotid arteries.

In the housemaid’s neck.

She died even before she hit the floor.

And as she stood there screaming in rage as she tore the room apart without once directing her anger at her husband.

She heard his voice.

From a distance say.

“What have you done?”

And as her life tumbled down the staircase of success.

She discovered the true quadropolar nature of love.

Even as no one could understand how she could have destroyed her life, by for the first time losing her cool.

Over the actions of so useless a husband.

Neither could her boss, who cried uncontrollably when he heard the news and his wife cradled his head in her hand.

No one knew that he was not only crying for her.

But crying over the action he had been ready to take, that day when in response to her statement.

“Only death can do us part.”

He had said to her.

“I have people who can get in touch with death.”

And she had laughed.

Before saying.

“Stop joking around.”

He had smiled.

At that time.

Afraid to tell her how serious he was.

And now that his wife cradled him in her arms as he cried.

He wished he had spoken to the people who knew how to speak to death.

He wished he had acted in time to save her from herself.

He wished he had helped her unlock the chains of love that held her heart hostage.

He wished that somehow he had made her understand that love sometimes is the weapon your enemy uses against you.

Lagos.

Jude Idada
May 20, 2019