, , , ,

Seven months pregnant with a husband who leaves with two words via email “move on”. Move on he says, she stares at the mail for as long as she could, and tries not to shed tears, though they pay no head. He needs to move on, go his own way, he does not want to come back, decides to stay behind, work or go to another country..his plans are made, though over coffee upon departure he says he will be there, and that they will be alright, and hugs her tight with his good bye.

She yields every time, for her love and her child’s kicking at his presence takes over, believe the impossible, tries to trust despite all the stories, and the stupidest lies ever heard. What of education? What of her strength of endurance when facing the unexpected of being abandoned to deal with love, with a certificate singed as married, but with duties never fulfilled. What does one do? Cry, scream or suicide? The latter had crossed her mind, but urge with held several times, each time her heart was broken, with the thought of the life growing within, too scared that she shalt survive with her endless suffering pursuing and a child that she harms through her lack of courage to endure his torments, believed justified.

What of their poor child, who kicks every time his dad comes home or is around, hyper active glad to have him even while in his mothers womb? What of the child, who we claimed we would raise together, and we picked names for, who was supposed to be a little nerd for his mothers pleasure or a player by the age of 12 to his mother’s annoyance, and his dad’s pleasure.

The world has presented her with a full plate, a heartless venture of someone with conscience that registers not his scruples. She has seen the heartlessness, and felt him wipe away her tears, and hold her close as her sobs became muffled into his chest. She longed for a second of comfort though foreseeing hurt, eminent and unavoidable..She has seen and felt the moments of comfort in his arms, and then the hurt of being torn apart, felt betrayed and told that he loved another, while carrying his child. She had learnt to love him, with all the love he claimed he has not for her, and then being pushed into hurt over and over, and then being called insane, irrational and delusional, but those who did not matter to her, but he claimed came first in his life, before her, before the kid, and before the marriage.

She has lived it all, though she still refused to believe. She refused to believe a man could walk away from his son, the way one did, and does, and then stay away the way one planned. She tried to muffle her sobs, from the world, while hiding her tears with the water that poured over her in the shower.

Love means nothing to one who goes through all the pain. Tears cried make no sense, just a waste as they pour down, with traces down her cheeks, and filling her with fear for her son.

A house that reminds of his presence, in every corner, a son that keeps kicking as he pleases, reminding that he remains, reminiscence of a relationship of lies and pretext, conspiracy and faithlessness.

She looks at her house, once a home, hugs his pillow to fill the void in her heart, the space in the bed they once used to lie on, and the hugs she cherished when all else was not left. She drowns in her own sorrow of believing any word uttered, or any affection acted, and the promises that mean not much, but just words told, and when told and over with, forgotten.

The kid kicks on while her tears fall, he keeps kicking unhindered by her sobs she finally lets escape, leaving her pride of courage behind.