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1984 – 2013
Wife and beloved mother.
In God's hands, we trust.
The rain pours down around my umbrella as I stare her headstone.
Trapped.
I’m trapped in a sadness so deep, I don’t know how to escape it.
Every morning she comes to my house.
Every night, I die a little when she leaves.
I read the words carved in front of me again.
ALINA MASTERS
1984 – 2013
Wife and beloved mother.
In God's hands, we trust.
I lean down and brush the dust from her name. I rearrange the pink lilies I’ve placed in the vase. I touch her face in the small oval photo, watching as she stares back at me, unblinking.
I step back and put my hands into the pockets of my black overcoat. I come here twice a week to pay my respects to a woman who gave me my children.
My wife.
A woman who was good. A woman who deserved a better man than the one she married.
I always blamed Alina for my sadness, but Brielle has taught me that my problem isn’t Alina. My problem is me.
I don’t know how to love a woman and not cause her pain. I see it every day. The look on Bree’s face nearly breaks me.
As I stand here, I can feel the blood pumping through my veins. My body is working, keeping me alive, but my heart has completely stopped. I exhale heavily. I’ve got to stop this.
I can’t go on feeling like the world is about to end.
I frown as a realisation dawns on me.
I need to do what makes me feel better. The only thing I know that works.
Half an hour later, I arrive at Madison’s, my therapist.
I always leave here relaxed. I don’t have to talk. I don’t have to think. I don’t have to feel. I walk through the front doors on autopilot.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith.” Hayley, the receptionist, smiles. “Good to see you back, sir. It’s been a while.”
“It has.”
“Would you like your normal room, sir?”
A frown creases my brow. “Yes.”
“Just go up to the penthouse and someone will be with you in a moment.”
