Score |
42
My Dead wife
<p>*My Dead Wife*</p><p><br/></p><p>We were only married for 2 years. </p><p>She hated loud music, loved cold soda, and always left her socks on the floor. </p><p>I used to complain. Now I’d pay anything to step on them again.</p><p><br/></p><p>She died on a Wednesday. Car accident. </p><p>They said it was instant. I wish it was. </p><p>Because the pain didn’t come instantly. It came slowly, every morning I woke up and reached for her side.</p><p><br/></p><p>For months I kept her number saved. </p><p>I’d text it sometimes. </p><p>“Got us groceries.” </p><p>“Rain today.” </p><p>“Miss you.” </p><p>The messages never delivered. But sending them felt like talking.</p><p><br/></p><p>One year later, my phone buzzed at 3:17 am. </p><p>Unknown number. </p><p>The message said: _“Stop texting me. I’m tired.”_</p><p><br/></p><p>My hands shook. </p><p>I replied: “Lola? Is that you?” </p><p>Delivered. </p><p>Three dots. Then: _“Come to the bridge. Now.”_</p><p><br/></p><p>I drove like crazy. Rain on the windshield. </p><p>The same bridge where we took pictures on our anniversary. </p><p>She was standing there. In her favorite yellow dress. Dry. Smiling. </p><p><br/></p><p>“I knew you’d come,” she said. </p><p>I ran to her. Held her. She was warm. Real. </p><p>“Why did you leave me?” I cried into her hair. </p><p>“Because you wouldn’t let me go,” she whispered.</p><p><br/></p><p>We sat on the edge, feet dangling. She told me she watched me. </p><p>Every text. Every night I slept with her shirt. </p><p>“I’m at peace now. But you’re not. You’re living in a grave with me.”</p><p><br/></p><p>I begged her to stay. “One more day. One more hour.” </p><p>She touched my face. “You promised me forever. You didn’t promise me never to live again.”</p><p><br/></p><p>Then she stood up. </p><p>Walked to the edge. </p><p>Turned back and smiled the same way she did the day we met. </p><p>“Don’t follow me. Live.”</p><p><br/></p><p>And she stepped off.</p><p><br/></p><p>I screamed. Ran. There was nothing below but water and darkness. </p><p>No body. No dress. No Lola. </p><p><br/></p><p>The police said no one was there. The number was disconnected. </p><p>The camera on the bridge was “down for repairs” that night.</p><p><br/></p><p>Now it’s been 3 years. </p><p>I don’t text anymore. </p><p>I don’t set two plates. </p><p>I live. </p><p>But some nights at 3:17 am my phone lights up. </p><p>No message. Just one missed call. </p><p>From an unknown number.</p><p><br/></p><p>And my heart breaks all over again. </p><p>Because the cruelest part isn’t that she died. </p><p>It’s that for one night, I thought I got her back.</p><p><br/></p><p>And I which she was there to put her socks on the floor </p><p>Now I understand the pain of losing someone you love.</p>
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5
Other insights from Don Mark
Don Mark
Port Harcourt, Nigeria
Port Harcourt, Nigeria
Don Mark
Port Harcourt, Nigeria
Port Harcourt, Nigeria
Don Mark
Port Harcourt, Nigeria
Port Harcourt, Nigeria
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