I remember it all like it was yesterday, partly because it was yesterday and partly because it has etched itself upon my mind like a never ending nightmare.
I had messed up. Again. Even in the limbo I was experiencing between sobriety and drunkenness, the fact was not lost on me. I had promised that I wouldn’t anymore and keeping with the trend of my previous promises, I had broken it. In fact, in that limbo I had hit upon a patch of iridescent clarity and was fully aware of how much of a screw up I had become.
As I reached the door to my home, I could already hear the locks on the door being unlatched. Shit. The door opened to reveal the smiling face of my wife. She had stayed up and that in itself was the worst possible scenario. I had hoped that I would come home to meet her asleep so that I could apologise profusely in the morning when I would be sober.
She threw her arms round me and buried her face in my chest. When she finally looked up at me, I saw in the redness of her eyes what I had dreaded to see. Sorrow. Waves of it deeply branded unto her soul as with a hot knife and in that moment I knew. She could see it all, the lipstick stains on my collar that I tried poorly to conceal, she could smell the scent of another woman on my body and taste the alcohol on my breath as she kissed me, but for some reason she ignored it all and continued to hold tight.
Guilt washed over me in a tidal wave of emotion and I started to weep, crying my eyes out like a little girl. “I’m so sorry”, I cried while she comforted me as I knelt in front of her. She hugged my head and whispered softly that she knew, that she had forgiven me.
Slowly she half-carried, half-dragged me to the bedroom where I flopped on the bed. One last time I whispered “I’m sorry” and one last time she whispered that she forgave me but as I looked into her eyes I saw that the sorrow had been replaced by steel and if at that point I was sober, I would have realised that something was very wrong.
This morning I woke up and jumped up out of bed as soon as the memories of last night flashed through my mind. I shouted out her name and got no response so I decided to go to the kitchen and there hanging by a rope from the knife rack was my loving wife, naked,pale and unmoving, features locked in rigor mortis, dried blood caked from a gash on her upper thigh.
A scream erupted from my lungs as my world ceased to move and just at that moment I noticed the blood on my hands. In confusion I dropped to the ground and scrawled on the wooden counter-top were two lines of words. And just as I heard the police burst through the kitchen door in slow motion like in a dream, I read:
“Till death do us part” I had said,
“Till death do us part” I had meant.