The Unseen

He placed a ring on her finger.

“I won't be ordained, for four more years. You'll wait for me?”

“I’m in love!" she reassured him. "What else can I do?!”

“We won’t have much money,” he cautioned.

“We won’t need much... We'll have each other!”

He looked at her, quizzically. In Africa, money sheltered... from harsh realities. (In the West, money came more-easily to her... and social-safety nets made it less of a concern.) He’d need to buckle down, study hard, then climb to the top. To thrive, in Africa, one had to conquer.

“Don’t forget, your promise to me.”

“And yours, to me.”

---

Outside, snow lay on the cold ground.

'He'd never have made it, here,' she mused. 'He loved the heat.'

She glanced at her sleeping baby.

How long had it been, since they’d met? 15 years...?

Her newborn wasn't his; none of her children were.

How had things gone so wrong? How had they lost touch?

She reminded herself, gently, 'Before internet and cellphones... distance was... unavoidable.’

She pushed thoughts of her former fiancé, out of her mind. She was happy-enough. Her husband was… alright.

Yes, it was difficult raising 3 kids by herself, but she had family support, nearby...

Her mind wandered... to their many hardships, and she rebuked herself for her fairytale gloss-over.

'Be real!' she chided herself.

In 5 years, her parents would be retired, and could then help her with the kids... but, by then, her youngest would already be in-school.

Honestly, she’d had very little help - from either her parents or her husband. (Her husband was always working, and when he was home, he was stressed.)

He often came home quite late. They were his own businesses, so he wanted to keep them afloat. He felt responsible, and she liked that about him. But, she suspected that, many nights, he was going-out with friends, instead of working (as he claimed), and gambling in poker games at the bars; large amounts of money were missing, and he often came home drunk.

He denied it, but she knew. Whenever she called him - in the wee hours of the morning, begging him to come home - she could hear, in the background, muffled music and the buzz of a crowd.

He was too addicted, now, to hide his alcohol abuse… and too distracted, by other concerns, to pretend, anymore, to be ‘present’ with family.

---

It was hard, being the wife of an African pastor. He was rarely home...busy defusing other people’s problems, and counselling them through crisis.

When home, he was tired - and a trifle irritable, unless she gave him some space. He was an introvert (as was she), and needed time to ‘breathe’ and recover himself. (His composure and inner-calm were among her favourite qualities).

With the pressures of raising kids, she, too, required calm; whenever he retreated to his study, her chance to re-energize herself became derailed. The kids still needed attention. The baby hung off her breast, drinking. It was tiring!

His work was important, yes, but so was raising a family, and helping one’s spouse.

Why was he so oblivious to their own family's problems - yet so acutely aware of the issues of others? Why did he care more-deeply for the concerns of his church congregation, than those of his own family?

Maybe, she was too young. Maybe, she was not empathetic enough. Or, maybe she was just tired, and needed a break... Living on the other side of the world from her parents, she had no one else to turn to except him.

Sleep was her best option, and, to hope that tomorrow would be easier.

‘Probably not,’ she thought wryly to herself, 'but, at very least, another day will have passed... and I will have survived.'

She was tired. Oh so very tired.

Hers was the fate of many women, wasn’t it? The men received all the glory, out in the workforce, and the women did the work of the home and children, with limited spousal support or attention.

Yes, he was different. He didn’t believe in male-chauvinistic traditions, but he was tired, at the end of the day. The work demands on him were many. His position was prized, and he'd moved up the religious ranks. Yet, no one realized the pressures on her were equally-demanding... and ever-expanding.

When was her break?

---

She loaded the kids, into the car - tears flooding her eyes, as she drove up the winding driveway, one last time. She looked, lovingly (one final glance into the rear-view mirror), at their beautiful home of 6 years... (4 tolerable years, followed by 2 hellish ones - with limited groceries and heat, due to money problems.) At least her mother had, unwittingly, helped them out on occasion, by inviting the kids and her over for dinner.

Visits from friends had stopped. Get-togethers, in their home, had ceased.

Frigid winters, with little heat, had meant: their kids had had to wear jackets inside the house, so they wouldn’t freeze. Usually, as soon as they’d arrived home, they’d jumped into bed, with jackets on, pulled the covers over their heads, and stayed there - instead of playing games, or with toys. It had been too damn cold! And, yes, it'd been sad... but… their reality.

They hadn't even watched tv, all year - except a few old VHS cartoons, on repeat, as they’d huddled under blankets. They'd just had no extra money.

Now, hopefully, the worst was over. She was heading, with the kids, to her mom’s, for a month, until she could figure out her next move.

He’d left, a month ago... Wells Fargo was pulling out of the Canadian mortgage-market and foreclosing on their house. They hadn't been able to pay-off their house, in-full, as had been demanded. Nor could they find another financial institution to extend them a new mortgage; both had dismal credit scores, having borrowed a lot to save his businesses from ruin.

Now, he was gone - to live on the top floor of one of his businesses, and try to make a last-ditch effort to save it.

Her car reached the top of the driveway. Their house was now out of view. It was time to move on.

---

She squirmed in the hard pew, forcing a smile and singing along with the congregation.

The services were long... the music slow. Unlike the upbeat local music (which she loved), these stodgy Western hymns from ages past (translated into the local language), were sleepy and stalwart.

She was sick of them... always the same. 'Praise Him, Almighty God, Redeemer, who saves us from our sins'...

in slow, mournful melody.

If God were the answer to everything… why was she so friendless, and de facto spouse-less?

And what had she ever done wrong...?

On average, her husband was spending only a few hours, per week, at home... awake, that is!

They didn't eat together, anymore. Gone was their friendly banter, about philosophy and politics, which had brought them together, so long ago.

In the evenings, they saw each other for about 15 minutes, before he turned off his reading light and rolled over to slumber. Before dozing, he’d pat her side and squeeze her hand, once - and that was it! No more romance.

Was there someone else? (She knew that fancily-dressed church ladies would love nothing better than to snag a preacher!) Had one caught his eye?

As a man of faith, marriage was, for him, a sacred union... (and he knew the sacrifices she'd made, to be with him), but... she imagined that he had, at very least, thought of divorce. How could anyone be happy with this... staleness?

Late at night, their teenagers would talk loudly with friends online... absorbed in a world of endless TikTok and Snapchat. They showed little care for 'family-togetherness,' and even less for parental input.

She'd often end up retreating to the bedroom... After pulling the covers over her head, she'd sometimes have a flashback of playing ‘tent,’ as a child, with her sister.

Oh, to see her sister, again! But they didn’t have enough money to travel overseas. It was out of the question. Their parishioners were struggling financially, and their church received funding from overseas. How would that look, if they ever took a vacation?!

If her sister came to visit them... it might be awkward... to reveal how distant she'd become from community. (Other parishioners had their own families to raise, and she was very much alone.)

She didn’t want to worry her family. The online chats would just have to do.

They were her lifeline.

---

The touch of a new partner is always strange. So is: saying a new lover’s name out loud…

Several times, she'd had to stop herself from speaking, when her former husband’s name had been on the tip of her tongue (in that special place reserved for one's most-belovèd). She didn’t want to embarrass herself, or him, by accidentally saying her ex's name.

He was wanted...

refreshing, energetic, and helpful... washed dishes...

liked discussing politics... and tolerated talking about feelings.

She looked forward to their upcoming wedding. Thank goodness, they’d found matching dresses when they’d gone to the U.S. on a recent 'errands trip.' Her daughters would look so cute, as flower girls!

He had 'warrior' tattoos, from time spent in the Army, but he’d promised to get those laser-ed off. (They just didn’t 'sit right' with her. She'd been raised to admire peace.)

---

This promotion to 'bishop' meant he'd be away more, travelling overseas. Maybe, on one of his excursions to Europe or America, she could come, too? It might bring them closer, again…

He was in-demand, his religious star rising. He was trusted by many, to important positions. What he'd wanted most was becoming his reality.

Although she believed in his mission – social justice for all, especially for the most vulnerable (spearheaded by NGO's and religious leaders) - sometimes she felt left-behind… like she'd become one of the vulnerable ones... emotionally.

Although she’d tried to become more involved in church life (to be closer to him and encircle herself within community), she still felt like an outsider. Her skin colour screamed difference (as did her accent), and, although people showed respect toward her, and sometimes true kindness (unmotivated by a desire for social advancement), she could feel the difference in which she were treated (as an ‘other’) - and she didn’t like it. It made her uncomfortable.

‘He'd probably have felt uncomfortable, in Canada... I'm just saving him from awkwardness, there,’ she reasoned. ‘Here, in his own country, he is helping his own people, and following his own dream.’

Except, it wasn’t her dream. Yes, she wanted to help people - yet, she sorely felt the sting of a woman who was not seen as an equal. And it wore away at her spirit.

Maybe a trip overseas, would do her good… ?

(Or... maybe... it would tear them apart, forever...?)

Canada could never be a future holiday destination, for sure. She might be tempted to stay... and he'd never be able to handle winter's grip. He complained, as it were, whenever temperatures dipped below 15 degrees Celsius (59°F)! She knew, he couldn’t last there. But, how much longer could she last here?

A trip might be good for her... Could she scrounge enough money, to accompany him on his next international conference? (...Or would that money be better spent on their kids’ educations?...)

She knew the answer.

She would try to sacrifice... for love... and family.

But, how much longer could she continue… to deny herself that which her own soul needed?

---

He was dependable, for sure. He never gambled or drank. Safety, that was! He came home from work, at a predictable hour – hallelujah!

“He’s a gem,” her mom reported, quite pleased.

Her mother had watched his work ethic, closely - now that his office was in her basement.

This arrangement saved money on daily trips to the city, and gave him much-needed peace and quiet, from their expanding family. It also meant he could come home earlier, to help out: another bonus!

There were so many pluses in this marriage, and she thanked God every day for him. He’d really helped, to turn their lives around. Yes, things weren’t perfect. (They barely had enough money, still, to buy more than groceries - and with two more (toddlers), she was busier than ever.) But, when they were careful, they were able to pay all their bills on-time... and, when he came home, he gave his babies the attention they required.

During holidays, when they received cash from relatives, they were able to buy small gifts for the kids - and sometimes a meal at Tim Horton’s or Subway. And, now that her parents were retired, her older kids were occasionally being invited over to their house - so she’d had a few breaks, to soak in silence.

It was a much more stable lifestyle than she'd had in her first marriage; and, although he sometimes spiralled into little rants or meltdowns (over small changes or unpredictable events)... things were... alright. They could talk through things; and they managed.

---

He kissed her, passionately. That hadn’t happened, in a long while.

“I’m thinking of retiring, from the ministry.”

“Really?” she asked, holding back excitement.

“Yes," he exhaled, quietly.

She smiled, and he quickly responded with a beaming grin. Their glistening eyes locked, piercingly - and souls connected deeply, uplifting them... in a peacefulness which they’d felt many times before... and which always felt... divine. Her husband exuded love and wisdom... when she had his undivided attention, that is!

“So, we'll spend more time together?” she asked, hesitantly – not knowing, if the answer would be what she most wanted.

His smile vanished - replaced by a furrowed brow, which meant: he had difficult news to deliver.

“I’ve been offered a presidential position, at a local NGO.”

“Local?”

“It’s only 5-hours away. I'll return, on weekends.”

She looked down, tears welling up in her eyes. As she leaned over, a single drop... fell out, and hit the floor.

She moved quickly to their bedroom, and buried herself under bed-covers. She began sobbing, silently, her ribs moving up and down uncontrollably. This time, she didn’t try to dam her despair.

He went to the bathroom - avoiding conflict, as per usual.

She didn’t want to confront him. There was no use arguing. He was more strong-willed than she (she'd learned that from experience) and that was saying something... (for she'd left her family, country, culture, and language, to be with him, against all bastions of common-sense and popular opinion at the time).

He was three times more stubborn than she. Not worth discussing, it was a done deal... She’d just have to bear it…

Did she have enough money to return home, to Canada... if she wanted? Should she save, in a separate account? Would there be enough extra, to squirrel away? In her mind, she plotted an escape route... in the eventuality that life got too hard.

What about their young-adult children? She didn't want them to feel abandoned. Maybe they could come study in Canada... and eventually, grow to like it, there, and stay...? But, that wouldn’t be fair to her husband...

He'd done nothing wrong. He just worked... too hard... all the time. And, his work was admirable. It was just... that… work was his priority. And, she was no one’s priority.

---

“I’m transgender!” It was barely audible beyond a whisper.

“Pardon?” She moved closer behind her husband, quite unsure of what he’d uttered. She wrapped her arms around him, lightly and gently, holding him.

His face screwed up, tightly, as if he were wringing out pain. He lifted his arms upwards - trying to free himself from invisible clutches.

“I’m a woman!” he said, more loudly, his voice cracking. “I’ve known, since I was 6.”

---

They held hands, at the airport, until his flight was called. He was heading to Geneva, for two weeks, for top-level meetings.

They kissed.

She was hit by a flashback... of their first meeting, at the international youth conference… Hands had been held, promises made…

kisses, most delicious.

---

It was no use convincing him, that he was not a ‘she’ - nor that he could still choose to be a ‘he,’ if he wanted. He was more stubborn than she; when he wanted something, compromise was never an option.

She’d tried: had come at it, from every angle. They’d discussed options, for as long as he could tolerate, then she’d backed off. He was emotionally-fragile (yet determined) and this, ultimately, was his decision.

He believed that he had ‘no choice’ because he'd been ‘born this way.‘ She couldn’t argue that point, because she hadn’t lived the same experience. And it was (after all) his life... so... he'd decide.

She'd be forced to live with the consequences.

---

His book came out: an autobiography, on which he’d worked so hard. Bookstores, across Africa, were carrying it - even overseas.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he’d slow down, now? Maybe, he’d finally have time for her…?

As she reached to hold his hand, he distractedly slipped it into his pocket, fumbling for his ringing cellphone. An old-fashioned pocket planner tumbled from his suit jacket to the floor, spilling pages of upcoming appointments and interviews…

---

The house felt bare, without a partner. The kids were grown, but somehow that didn’t make it any easier.

The silence was almost unbearable.

Although, at times, it was peaceful... there hung in the air a fervent, undeniable longing - utterly aching, to be fulfilled.

She needed companionship; despite her best efforts... this still eluded her.

‘The fate of a woman,’ she sighed, quietly to herself.

The house silently

stood guard.

She touched its walls, with her fingertips.

It was all she had left.