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The waitress continued to apologize for spilling wine on the sleeve of the white turtleneck sweater I was wearing that evening. Rushing back to us with a cloth and a bowl of water, she dabbed frantically to salvage the stain so it did not set. In between the yelling from my husband and the strong smell of the detergent in the water, I tried to tell her it was fine. 

Pulling my hand away from her, the sleeve of my sweater rolled up, and I knew she had seen it, the bruise on my wrist. I shuffled my gaze between her and my husband. She also noticed that I was putting on sunglasses indoors and wore a whole lot of makeup for a simple dinner.

Tugging away from her grip with a little bit more force and edginess than I had intended, I knew she saw it. She saw it all and she knew, she knew he hurt me. And just as I could not avoid my husband’s gaze anymore, I rose my head to meet his eyes. They had fire in them., I knew that look all too well. I had failed in preventing any other person from seeing what he did to me and this bore consequences.

The waitress returned with the bill and as she handed it to my husband, we shared one last look. Her eyes, they longed to help me. They felt sorry for me. They wished me luck and granted me strength before I would have to go home to my fate. 

It was that look in her eyes that I saw in my head, as blood dripped from the kitchen knife I held in one hand and the phone in the other hand, as I stood over my husband’s body. Blue lights flooded the overtone of our dim lit parlour, spilling into the kitchen. Cars with sirens blaring surrounded our house. He looked so peaceful as he lay on our kitchen floor, there he looked more like the man I had fallen in love with.

By Maureen Itah

From: Nigeria

Website: https://medium.com/@maureenitah01/to-get-over-someone-you-have-to-get-under-another-3fecb700b8e6