I had all the reasons to ask for a divorce.

It was one day on a spring night when he and I had our first fight; in fact, the first time he ever dared to raise his voice on me. I had done it to him, so many times, I had raised my voice, so shamelessly without giving a damn on how he must feel; but on that night, when he raised his voice on me, I could imagine exactly how he must have felt about me. Prior to then I never knew what his little sad smiles really meant.

It was I who initially started ranting at him, for as always he was ritually late, and he had forgotten that our daughter had a vaccination due for this particular day and that he never brought back my car from the service station where he took it to two days ago. I was on the edge of my patience of dealing with him, I couldn’t bare his erratic, irresponsible mannerisms anymore, for he might as well forget the two us in the near future, he might as well leave us forgotten to starve and die. That was what I told him the moment he stepped into the house; blazer in hand, tie undone; he hadn’t even pressed his shirt, I noticed. I didn’t bother to, that morning because he was too immersed in his work that he could do nothing so much as hold my girl until I ran the chores. His eyes were dark, swollen and sleepy, but I didn’t take exhaustion as an excuse to overlook something so important as family; his daughter was his life, that was what he told me once back in Christmas and there he was, being ignorant of her health issues. I asked him whether he even knew he had left me with a child to handle on my own, or whether he even knew where on earth I got her from. True, what I said could have been so sensitive, and my husband sure was overly sentimental and that I knew. But ignorance, for me was never and answer. I ranted all I could the entire night; it was at the peak of it that he seethed at me in return. He wanted to know what on earth he should do now, he wanted to know what on earth would shut my mouth for once in his life because all throughout the four years of our marriage all he had heard was me scream at me. This got me bad, so I told him the truth. I asked for a divorce.

He refused it right away, just like that, blaring again that divorce was not an option; I couldn’t believe him. After all that he had put me through he was still refusing to give me a divorce; I couldn’t believe that he was really expecting me to run chores and take care of the baby all my life being his neglected house wife. I screamed at him saying that it was an option and I would not take no as an answer. He went silent then. After a moment of utter silence, throughout which I listened to the echo of our loud voices in the hallway which could have been filled with laughter but never was, he turned to look at me, and uttered the dreading words I never imagined he’d say. He said he wanted to die. And my anger was too much that I too, without thinking once, said in return that I too wished he would.

Without another word he walked right back out of the house, leaving me in tears.

I couldn’t blink an eye that night, I sat there in the living room, crying with our baby cradled in my hands. She was deep in a peaceful slumber, totally unaware that her parents had sworn to die; I felt so sorry for her, sorry that she had such parents as we were. We could have given her a better life, we could have worked it out, for the sake of her but he never even tried. He never even took a moment to look back and see where he had gone wrong.

But looking down at how she had inherited his eyes and that graceful smile which never failed to set my heart flutter in joy and pure bliss, I couldn’t help but wish, wish with my whole heart that he would return to me, right at that moment without a scratch so that I hold his hand and tell him how exactly I felt. No matter how much of hard times we had, he was all I had and all I could look out for when I was in need, and there was no way I could imagine my life without him, even without a single glance or a word; his very presence made me feel secured and free. He had always been to me the sunshine on morning dew.

It was late at midnight on this particular day that I heard his car pulling over to the lawn; our baby was awake at that time, leisurely chewing on a toy that he had gotten her. Panicking as I may would, I took her in my arms and rushed to the front door; as though on cue, he was there, right before me; wrenched, exhausted and there were lines of tears on his cheeks. What which caught me right away was the massive red blotch on his right sleeve and the blood on both his fisted hands; his once pale skin was smeared terribly with crimson. I immediately remembered that time when I found blood drenched tissues in his room, that time which scared the heavens out of me; and here he was, once again, scaring the death out of me; but now, giving me answers. By the look of it, I could figure out right away.

Neither of us could utter a word then. Obvious guilt and fear spread throughout my entire being, eyes fixed on his hands; I have never seen so much of blood on someone, even worse, on my very own husband ever in my life. I couldn’t even find my tears to cry let alone find my voice to say a single word, nor could I look into his eyes, for I was certain, by then, that I would break down, right before his eyes.

He could not have been hurting himself.

He stepped inside then; it had rained before thus the ambiance scented of earth and the spring, mixed with his breezy odor of lemons which I always loved to fill my lungs with. He merely passed by me then, as though we were two strangers passing each other in a leisurely walk; this cringed my heart so hard. At that moment, it was I who wanted to die.

And I told him that. I told him that I too, wanted to die, because I let all this happen to him.

He paused on his track then, standing still as stone in the hallway his back turned to me. The little one couldn’t understand any of this, and was reaching out for her father as though it’s the most natural thing on earth, calling for him in her senseless baby words, and I realized; his shoulders began to convulse. This was the first time I saw him cry.

It was past midnight when the three of us finally settled down. There was a heavy cloudburst outside and a brief power cut, the three of us remained in the living room, him and me deep in thoughts, lost in our own worlds while the little one slept peacefully on a sofa. My husband had his eyes focused on her; tears filled in his eyes, his hands were still smeared with blood, now dried in spite of the cold ambiance, but by the way he hardly moved them, I could imagine how much it hurt.

Being unable to watch his distress anymore, knowing that it was I who caused it, I stood up, scurried to the kitchen and gathered all that I necessarily needed. A basin of warm water, cotton, cloth and first aid; and returned, only to see my husband now sitting on the floor, examining his blood smeared hands. I could imagine what he was thinking, and I wouldn’t blame him for thinking so. I had never treated him the way he deserved it, thus he might as well see me in the light of a merciless devil. This, I had to change. With a deep breath, I approached him and settled to sit on the floor before him. He was surprised to see my conduct for sure; he must have wondered if I had gone insane. His lips were slightly parted, eyes drooping with sheer exhaustion, and slowly he began to retrieve his hands, probably thinking if they were scaring me. I reached out then, and held them back. He was warm, but his fingertips were cold, the blood was stiff and stickily covering them, seeing this, I pursed my lips and cried. I cried so hard until I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. His hands were still in mine, and slowly his deft fingers began to caress mine so gently, urging me not to cry; but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to cry until I couldn’t breathe anymore, but not even that would make it up to all that I had done to him.

When I finally composed myself and focused on treating his wounds, he willingly pulled up his sleeves himself because he didn’t want me to touch the blood drenched cloth. Seeing the wounds I tried my best not to cry; the cuts were fresh and open, blood dried around them but terribly perturbing. If he stayed any longer this way, they could have been infected. There was a line of tiny cuts aggressively done but luckily none of them seemed to need any stitches, nonetheless terrible. I asked him why he did it. He said he couldn’t help it. I asked him if it hurt, he smiled at me then, the slightest that I almost didn’t grasp it. He said it didn’t hurt him any longer, and glanced down at our hands; I realized, that’s what he actually meant, because neither he nor I could remember the last time we held hands.

Nimbly and gently, I soaked a cloth in warm water and cleaned the blood and the cuts; I didn’t dare to ask how he did it because I didn’t want to think of it anymore. I wanted the bad memories of it to go away, but the blood in the basin never seemed to dissolve even if I wanted to; the scars on his wrists would always remain.

All the while that I treated him, I realized, his eyes were steadily focused on me. Not on his wound, nor anywhere else but myself as though he was attempting to remember something he had long forgotten, as though it all read on myself. If it was before, I would have felt uncomfortable, irritated even, but now I didn’t want him to look away but watch only me, I want him to see me not as the woman who spent her life with him for four years, no, but as his wife, who would willingly hold on to him for hundred more years.

He then, all out of the blue said to me that I were beautiful.

I couldn’t find my words to respond, I didn’t know how I should react. Whether I should thank him and tell him he were the same or merely smile and accept his word, I didn’t know; because I had never been said that in my life. I remained silent and carried on my doing, yet he didn’t stop there. He said I were beautiful, that I was the most beautiful he had ever seen in his life, and that he would give anything in the world to see me smile because through me he could see what happiness was all about. I didn’t know how to respond, I remained silent; he never failed to make my heart beat so hard. And finally when I had carefully put bandage around the wound, he held my hand securely in his as though he was holding something so precious; I was surprised, I looked into his eyes and witnessed something I had never seen in my life. They were sparkling like stars in a cloudless night. Then he said it, as though it was the most natural thing on earth;

He said that he loved me.

And I told him to never sail away from me.

We made up for each other that night, although I could never bring myself to tell him that I too, loved him so, we made up for all the time we hurt each other and I begged him to be honest with me because I couldn’t bring myself to see him hurting anymore.

Finally when he had gathered the audacity to do so, he told me everything.