Honeymoon for One

It didn’t have to be this way! Over and over, my mind screamed the words as I fought my way through the thicket. Sweat poured into my eyes, and covered my body in a clammy, sticky film. The dirt clung to my skin. I could see my breath as it ran away from me. Laboriously, I dragged my burden over the brambles once in a while, cutting myself on a branch or a barb. The weight that I’d effortlessly carried across the threshold of our home not so long ago was substantially harder to navigate in its current state. And I realized how much you’d carried me, in the beginning. How much lighter you always made things.

But, there was a darkness in me that you didn’t know about. Something I’d tried so hard to do away with and had somehow kept hidden since my childhood. Would you have judged me for it? Doubtful. We’d had our arguments over the years, but we’d always managed to make up. Perhaps, if you’d been more intuitive, you’d have never married me in the first place. We wouldn’t be here. But, you were always looking for a way up and never looking for a way out. I wish I didn't have to now.

3 hours earlier- October 31,2021

Our one year anniversary. You always loved the idea of getting married on Halloween. I thought it was a child’s holiday, but it was your favorite. I never could say no to you. A celebratory dinner. Just the two of us at the family cabin. I'd spent hours in the kitchen, cleaning as I went, so you wouldn't stress about it. I didn't want you to lift a finger. Lasagna and tiramisu for dessert. As we sat down to dinner, I watched as you bowed your head. Silently, you thanked God for the meal I had created. You smiled at me as you finished, finally thanking me for making you dinner. Thanks. It looks amazing. That's what you said. That's when the events that would lead to our tragic end began to unfold.

Your phone, ever by your side, rang in your pocket. No hesitation. You looked at me, mildly apologetic. Your mother. You answered, of course, and spent the next 30 minutes on the phone with her. Had you even noticed how I'd carefully set the table? Your favorite orchids in a small vase. The candles I'd lit. The perfect indicator of a romantic evening between husband and wife. That little extra effort that led the other person to believe they knew what to expect. The way your ruby lipstick and forgotten wedding ring at dinner with your clients made them believe they knew what you wanted. I knew better... didn't I? Waiting for you to return, I looked down at our cooling food, wondering if I should reheat it, or let it be. Didn't you deserve to eat it cold?

My rage, like a poison, began to flood my body. I could feel it coursing through my veins, corrupting the very soul you claimed needed saving. Every moment you were gone, it increased, bringing it's ugly, filthy cousin Suspicion along for the ride. How was I to know you were really talking to your mother? Had one of those lonely, divorcing clients of yours finally sank his claws into you? My breathing was ragged and I couldn't stop it. It was too late. I no longer had control.

As you finished your more-important-than-our-anniversary call, you kissed my forehead and apologized. You asked me why I hadn't eaten, and I was done. I silently went to the kitchen, pouring myself another glass of wine. My back turned to you. Don't be like this. That's what you said, as you put your hand on my shoulder. Standing on your tiptoes the way you often did, to nibble my ear, and kiss my neck.

Normally, this would quell the rage within, but it had stewed too long and wasn't leaving easily.

You didn't have to answer, I said. That was the start of it. Our last argument. I pulled away from you, Hannah, but you wouldn't let me be. You wouldn't let me cool down. This was the part of me I'd tried to hide from you. It was almost as if I was watching someone else behave this way, it had been buried for so long. I slapped you. My wife. Hannah, I'm so sorry. I slapped you in the face. And I found out, you bleed a lot. The blood came from your nose and fell onto the pristine tile. You looked at me, shocked, I assumed. I was, too. I wouldn't normally lay a finger on you. I apologized profusely. But you wouldn't see it as sincere. You rambled on about how blind you'd been, how stupid. I didn't mean it, Hannah!

It was an impulse. Not something I'd have done if I had control. So, there it was. You thought I was a monster. As we talked, you moved around the kitchen, as you always did when emotions were high. When you were stressed about work. Back and forth you went so many times. You'd missed it every time. But then, it happened. Your bare foot met with the pool of blood on the glistening floor, and you tripped. And despite it appearing to be the slowest event in the course of my life, I couldn't get to you. I tried. I reached. I ran to you. Another 6 inches, and I would have caught you, I think.

More blood. Your head hit the corner of the marble countertop as you'd made your descent to the floor. It was an accident. A real accident. You were gone. And I grabbed my phone. 9-1-1. I punched it in, but before I pressed send, I stopped to look at your face, where an imprint of my hand still remained. Cancel.

In a panic, I had wrapped you up in one of the big plastic sheets we'd used when we painted the entryway. The heinous yellow paint, an added brightness you insisted was missing from the cabin. I feared, Hannah, that with you gone, it would never feel bright again.

Presently:

It's just before midnight. The stars are numerous and beautiful. A startling contrast to the task at hand. I think it is 3 miles to the pond, if I remember correctly. I feel like I've gone maybe a mile. The terrain is difficult to navigate. But I don't think there's anything else to do. Why did it have to be like this? This isn't your fault. It isn't mine. It was an accident. We were supposed to have a good life together. Hell, we were leaving for a vacation tomorrow morning. Rome. The honeymoon you'd wanted that we weren't able to afford. But, now we could. Now those tickets would be my escape from all this. It's the only thing that makes sense. I have to leave and start a new life. Or they'll throw me in prison here. Nobody would believe I wasn't the cause of your untimely end. And I can't face your family.

I must have gone farther than I realized, because I was suddenly engulfed in a thick fog. The pond must be close by. I start to be more careful in my movements. The pond is very close. The chilly swamp water penetrates my boots and my feet start to sting. You're getting heavier, Hannah. I'm getting scared. Guilty. I didn’t even try to give you mouth to mouth. Should I try? What if you weren’t gone after all? No. You must be. It’s been too long. But, what if, during our hellish trek through the night, you were alive? What if your body was found? They’d be able to discover that you were alive for some time...after the accident. What’s happening?! I should be holding you in my arms! Not worried about being accused in your death. It. Was. An. Accident. Wasn’t it? Yes, I hit you. I never should have done that. But, even that wasn’t near fatal. Nowhere near. You’d have left me, I’m sure. As you should. How long have I kept these demons at bay? And now, here they were, at the forefront of my existence. What am I going to do?

It’s cold. Maybe 40 degrees at most. My tears burn my cheeks as I reach the pond at last. I retrieve the small row boat we used for fishing and picnics. Always good memories, erased after tonight. After tonight, I would only remember the sound of you hitting the water. The sight of you sinking into the depths. What else could be etched in my mind?

Finally ashore, wet and exhausted, I hope for death as I close my eyes. It’s only fair, after all. Wouldn’t that be fair? I lay in the dew-covered grass for ages, until the sun begins to rise. Had I fallen asleep? The pink sky, mockingly beautiful above as I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing it were all a dream. Knowing it wasn’t, and that I have to leave for the airport right away, I begin the walk back to the cabin. Of course, the return journey is far easier. My fists are shoved deep into my pockets as I make my way back. No thoughts in my head, except reaching the cabin, so I can leave. One foot in front of the other. That’s all.

What a mess. As I enter the cabin, I see the blood. The mud, the water, everywhere. Did I go into the bedroom already? No. I just walked in. But there is water on the floor. Mud. Had I gone into the bedroom before I went to the pond? No. Anyway, that wouldn’t explain the water. Someone else must be here. I quickly grab a knife from the kitchen drawer and try my best to calm my breathing and to quietly enter the room. My heart pounds in my chest as my frozen fingers grasp the brass doorknob and I pull the door toward me revealing our bed. Atop the bed, there’s a note. Do I dare? How can I not? Filled with trepidation, I unfold it to read:

Adam,

I want a divorce.

XO,

Hannah.