It was during the rainy season, a soft drizzle in the air. After the guests had left and the rituals were done, his mother placed her hairpin in my hand and said gently:
“It’s the daughter-in-law who keeps the household fire burning.”
“You’re tired. Rest tonight.”
Then he turned over and pulled the quilt over himself.
I thought maybe it was just the first night. That he was being thoughtful.
But it happened again the next night. And the one after. And the one after that.
Each time I moved a little closer, hoping he would meet me halfway, he shifted away. Not harshly. Not cruelly. Just… as if he knew exactly where the invisible line between us lay — and refused to cross it.
Trying Everything — Except the Truth
By year ten, I had typed out a divorce petition, saved quietly on my laptop as der_late.docx. I edited it often, sometimes deleting it entirely, other times preparing to print.
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