Just (Part 2)

She had so many regrets.

The decline was subtle, certainly, but as his wife she should have seen it.

Perhaps she had, only her naivety had persuaded her that if her joy overflowed enough it would penetrate the shell that had begun to surround him. She would balance his darkness with her light.

What an idiot she’d been.

Every effort she’d made to understand him had failed—how could she possibly comprehend his pain when she knew nothing of it herself?

She’d thought their love for one another was strong enough to sustain them through the gloom; that if she stayed by his side, nurturing him throughout the long days spent in bed, holding him when he cried, reassuring him that she thought no less of him because of his tears—that all of that would be enough to help him step forward into the sunshine.

Just sadness, indeed.

Sadness had utterly consumed him, and he was so afraid of being judged that he’d kept it to himself, refusing to discuss it with anyone, refusing to admit that he needed more than her eternal sunshine to help rekindle his light.

You proud old fool, she thought miserably.

The same friends who had once offered advice now offered condolences, but they rang hollow in her ears. She wanted to rage at them for their lack of comprehension, and beat them with her fists screaming, ‘You did this!’ because that was the truth, after all, wasn’t it? That it was their misunderstanding and judgement that he had feared so greatly that had driven him to desperate measures?

That wasn’t fair though, she knew, and her rage at his oblivious friends was a mask for the guilt she felt over not realising how badly he was hurting.

She should have noticed. She should have spent more time with him. She should have sought help on his behalf. So many things she blamed herself for; so many things she wished she’d done differently.

She wished she’d told him.

Now she stroked her rounding stomach and wondered. If he’d known before, would it have made a difference? The child would carry his name, she decided. Sure, they hadn’t planned to have children so soon, but when she got the results back she’d been overjoyed; thought perhaps this was divine intervention.

Fate had intervened before she could share the news, however.

Every time she closed her eyes she saw again the blood; so much of it, pooling around him as he slumped against the bathtub, a razor in his limp hands. His eyes still open, gazing down at the destruction he’d caused.

‘I just wanted to cut out the darkness,’ he’d whispered in delirium as she’d frantically pressed a towel to his wounds with one hand and fumbled for her phone with the other, ‘I think I cut too deep.’

***