Souls.22

(Continued from Souls.16 …)

I looked at him. I couldn’t think of what to think. I just wanted to run. And I did. I rushed out of the restaurant, and as though all scripted, I ran in a specific direction, any.

The kids will be back in about an hour, and then my husband will, with his black suitcase of documents and a straight-up tie on his proper shirt. I could read them, understand the paperwork, but I didn’t, partly not to invade the privacy of him. Dinner was cooking in the kitchen, the aroma dispersing in all directions, with one reaching me.

He gave chase, I knew it. In my heart I could hear his footsteps closing in on me, reaching out for me. I turned around and saw no one familiar in the night crowd. I didn’t stop running in the momentum, and only stopped to gasp for air and to recover from the pain within. Was it my heart or stomach that was aching? I couldn’t tell; no one was near; I was a far distance away from start. I had feared for this day, the realization of the relationship running too smoothly and the possible downward, spiralling consequences of being together for the rest of our lives. I had feared the life. For a few months, endless calls he made thereafter, lingering visits to my doorstep, but with no response they soon subsided, and nothingness was felt in my heart. I would have loved to receive his call to know he still care; worried to let the phone rang a few more times and petrified to have the heart to pick up. Now it was silent, sitting on the glass table in the living room, the display unchanged except for the passing minutes.

There came a sound from the kitchen, and I knew the soup was boiling. I stood up, replaced the album in its original corner of my heart. He is all that matters now, calm; reassuring, though not the type for me, but that was okay. I didn’t expect from it, him, nor myself, and for the rest of my life, I would be content to live like that.

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