The End

Sitting quietly by the window, I watched the eventide overtaking the bustles of the day in the small town, Ontario. 

It was just like any other day, but not for me. 

The day was special, I was celebrating my 5th year anniversary with Owen Doyle, my boyfriend.

Owen and I started dating around the time I turned 19.

It was love at first sight- at least for him. I didn’t like him until a few dates after our first meeting, but eventually we got together. 

He was older, going to 32 as I will be turning 24.

We have been together for five years and I naturally, expected a ring.

I repeatedly told myself “today is the day!” The signs were all clear. 

Today is the day he would go on his knees and say those words: “Rosé Willian, will you marry me?”

I envisioned myself saying yes a thousand times, with a few drops of tears of course, and Owen, would wipe off my tears with his thumb finger and plant a kiss on my forehead to seal the beautiful evening. A smile played across my face as I enjoyed my imaginations, “can’t wait!” I squealed.

Just then, a heavily pregnant but gorgeous woman stepped into the three star restaurant, gaining the attention and admiration of everyone.

I equally smiled at her admirably. Owen and I hardly talked about children but I was curious to know what our children would look like. He was a short, scanty-haired man, and I was a light brown brunette with a thick full length of hair dangling on my face even as I tried to smile politely at the pregnant woman.

As if she had noticed my struggles, she peered at my table and began to walk towards me. 

“Long hair troubles?” She smiled.

“Oh, it’s fine….” I replied, unable to compliment her gorgeousness, I am a shy person, too reserved, too timid. 

She took a look at my table and went; 

“Celebrating something?”

The bottle of unopened champagne resting in ice with candles on the table had definitely given it away. I blushed slightly and replied,

“5th anniversary, my boyfriend is running a bit late….”

The pregnant lady brazenly settled before me, the warmth in her eyes slowly fading to a look quite stern and unappreciating, 

“I’m afraid he won’t be here today….” She began.

I was confused and puzzled at her words, 

“Do you know who…”

“Owen Doyles, my husband?” She cut in.

“Yeah, he’s not coming. You, cheap slut!” 

“Excuse me, ma’am, you probably have the wrong per…”

My statement was cut short by a slap that stung into my cheeks, the boisterous sound of it drawing unneeded attention to our table.

“You’ve been having an affair with my husband for five years! Five years!!” She yelled, 

“The least you could do is offer an apology before denying it to my face! There are pictures of you going to my husband’s workplace, sleeping on my matrimonial bed when I was away, you have wrecked my home!!” 

 My mouth fell open and my eyes popped in unbelievable surprise.

“What?!” I gasped.

I looked around and phone cameras were drawn out of pockets and purses pointing at me, with multiple whispers of gossip going round the fancy restaurant.

“Ma’am, my boyfriend is not married!” I exclaimed, recomposing myself.

“Lies! You are a home-wrecker! A husband-snatcher!” Turning to the crowd, she said,

“Be careful women, don’t be deceived by her innocent looks, she’s the real devil. How could you do that to a fellow woman?!” The pregnant woman continued yelling, inviting more onlookers to our table. 

I was trying futilely to make sense of everything that was happening.

“I don’t believe it” I muttered, 

“I don’t believe it…! Owen never said he was married” 

“I won’t believe it until he says so himself” I protested, shuddering.

 

The pregnant woman fumed, jolting up from the table. She handed over a photo to anyone who cared to see and eventually the picture came to me. 

“There was Owen, smiling happily with a kid in his arms and the pregnant woman by his side. 

Owen was really married!

I felt my heart shatter into a million tiny pieces as I walked back home, soaked in tears and sweat.

“Owen is married” I said for the umpteenth time, covered in shame and guilt of the atrocious act I had committed unknowingly.

Another woman’s husband wasn’t mine to covet and I had been doing that for five years. 

I tried his number for the hundredth time in one minute, but the server said the same thing,

“Number doesn’t exist…” 

A knot tightened my chest at the mere thought of hearing his voice. 

“More lies?” Is that what you want to hear?!” I cautioned myself.

Videos of me being harassed in public had started making rounds on the internet before I got to my doorstep. 

“How did I get here?” I cried, bitterly, seriously, completely aware of the fingers being pointed at me as I walked along neighborhood.

=====

The light curtains of my window danced happily to the early morning whooshing of the incoming Spring.

It will be March in two days. 

“February was horrible” I recounted, staring blankly into the space.

I was almost at a good place before it all happened… I had a good job too.

I worked so hard to become a blogger for Ontario’s top ten Fashion Company, but how could they keep me after the atrocious email Owen’s wife had sent them. The viral video of a man’s wife harassing me for having an affair with her husband was enough for the Company to fire me.

I received a retrenchment mail that same day- exactly eight days ago.

Sure, eight thousand dollars was not enough money for most people but it paid my bills. 

It paid my mother’s incurred debts. 

Where other people inherited properties and were left with happy memories of their dead parents, mine left me with nothing but debts and penury.

I spent six thousand five hundred dollars every month from my eight thousand dollars salary, paying for my mother’s loans and I was still in more debts. 

I had no friends either.

I had become the scorn of women, crying and begging for forgiveness from a heavily pregnant woman. A woman who was legally my boyfriend’s wife. 

I was constantly haunted by the image of Owen’s wife, yelling,

“Slut, leave my husband. He doesn’t want you…” while I knelt on the ground, begging her for forgiveness.

“I am in the wrong. Not knowing is no excuse, I’m sorry…” I pleaded.

My conscience couldn’t let me play victim. Another woman’s husband wasn’t mine to covet so I held it all in. 

The abuses, the cusses, the backlash from the internet, I held it all in.

I buried my face in the pillow and cried bitterly, for the last five years of my life, working so hard to be in a relationship that wasn’t leading anywhere. 

I cried and cried until I had no more tears left in me. 

I could literally feel my body become weightless as I attempted to stand. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t eaten anything in days. 

How could I? I couldn’t go anywhere without being pointed at in the small city. 

Unexpectedly, a loud thud resounded on my door. 

My heart thumped out of my chest as the thudding persisted.

“Rosé!” Accompanied the thudding.

“Rosé, please open up. It’s me!” The stranger called.

Slowly, weakly, I crept up to the door and peered through the small hole, it was Paula, my next door neighbor. 

I weakly pulled the door open, and without permission, she let herself in.

She immediately began to scream at the mess I was living in.

“Rosé! Are you going to die because your relationship ended?!”

“My life ended too” I replied.

Paula and I were not friends, we were just neighbors. In fact, this would be our first conversation.

“Your life in Ontario has ended…” she retorted.

“What do you mean?” I asked absentmindedly.

“Only your life in Ontario has ended” she repeated,

“Not your entire life. Go somewhere else, start afresh…“