This never would've happened if she'd just listened to him. He eyed his calloused hand, now speckled with feverish bruises pulsing in frustration. He hadn't meant for his thoughts to manifest, his flesh impulsively striking faster than his mind.
Before him was a perturbing bloodbath: a glass table corner crusted with crimson and his precious wife, a crumpled mess as quivers of leaky blood wracked half of her swollen face in an ugly masquerade.
Honestly, was it really that hard for her? Noah wasn't asking for much, honestly. Certainly not as much as other sickeningly selfish husbands ask of their wives. By those standards, surely, he was leagues better! But never enough for her.
Her tasks were simple: keep the house clean, prepare three hearty meals a day, and make sure the kid was kept alive and well. Simple, right? But of course, a woman would find a way to mess that up. They always do.
She was pathetic, barely fulfilling the minimum of her duties. He should've expected it, really; a married woman and mother with a full-time job? CEO and self-employed entrepreneur? Downright laughable and utterly cliche: "I'm working late tonight. Can you take care of Mira?", "Do you even appreciate me?", "I really am trying my best here!", "Can't I just have this one thing?". Disgustingly selfish, she is, right down to her little aggravating periwinkle toes.
Noah was pissed; unfortunately, his wife had chosen the wrong priority of their ultimatum. A suffocating silence slumped over the two, a simmering realization thickening to a bulbous malice that had grown too large a burden for their marriage to shoulder. Its shoulders buckled and broke. The ambulance, a solemn "tsk" and 3 dials away, could have come much sooner.
Diana sat in a stilled stupor, a hollow beep baring the room. How dramatic. His insincere hand laced with obstinacy creeped out. She jolted away, her thoughts raging waves with tides of unfamiliarity of this stranger before her. Her nose, the star of her career in perfumery, shattered and busted along with nouvelle dreams of fulfillment.
"I'm sorry, sweetie. It was a mistake, and I wasn't thinking. Can you forgive me?" Noah murmured, a guttural stab of indignation plating her sorrow.
Her fists clenched. Sorry? A cheap sorry is the only consolation she gets from this thief? A paltry sorry is all he offers for this homicide? An infinitely worthless sorry is the only thing he gives in return for irreversible destruction?
Fleeting guilt it was, overshadowed by the unquenchable desire for control. A bastardly victory for conquest, pride, and prejudice was won.
Noah trudged to the door, sagging in exhaustion. He would give her time to calm down. To finally settle and adjust. The ultimatum no longer existed; after all, he'd just ensured only one choice would remain. Albeit accidentally, he'll claim.
"Is that all?”, Diana cautioned tightly. She couldn't stop herself. One last chance for redemption, all her bitterness shoved downward for reconstruction. A barefaced hope for revival; of not letting 12 years of commitment become quicksand in her grasp. For her time spent to not become as useless as him.
"I'll see you back at home", satisfaction frosted his utterance. Hah. A ghost of his younger shell is all that hardly remained, the tiny sliver of faith she held loose snapping by its strings. Despondent chuckles rumbled the rooms in her heart with a crispy finality.
When he awakes to dawn breaking, a lone child sleeps, unaware of the collateral consequences they will not be able to bear. An abandoned wedding ring glitters on the horizon. The house is still.
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