I saw the way she held Tajj when Kaled and Adeela came to our wedding. Even if she doesn’t want them now, the time will come when she’ll want to be a mother. That will be the moment I lose her.
As a test, the other day I asked whether she’d like to trade this penthouse for a larger house here in London. She smiled—a smile that didn’t reach her eyes—and said there was no need.
What she didn’t say, however, tied my stomach in knots: there’s no need for a larger home just for the two of us.
I hear the door unlock and then see her silhouette in the dark.
“Why didn’t you turn on the light?” she asks as she enters the living room.
The moonlight illuminates the space, and she can see me.
“I was thinking.”
“In the dark?”
“You got home earlier than usual.”
“Josephine has an exam tomorrow morning.” She stops in front of me. “Is everything okay?”
I reach out and pull her onto my lap, making her straddle me, facing me.
After giving me a light kiss on the lips, she pulls back slightly, settling onto my knees. “Rodrick, is everything okay?” she insists.
My throat tightens. “I was responsible for my father killing himself.”
Confessions aren’t something I’m used to making. Revisiting the past is painful, but I want to forge a bond stronger than sex between us.
“What?”
“I was responsible for my father killing himself—and killing Iona, my stepmother. You need to know who I am and decide, once and for all, if you want to stay with me.”
Stay with me.
“We can’t talk about this in the dark,” she says, trying to get up, but I don’t let her.
“Why not? What difference does it make?”
“Why are you angry?”
“Didn’t you hear what I said? I made my father kill her and then himself. Is that the kind of man you want to stay married to?”
She jumps off my lap and turns on the light. “Are you telling me this because you want me to leave?”
“No. Because it’s the truth. I’m a fucking monster, Jazmina.”
She comes closer. “No, you’re not. I don’t know what happened, because you never wanted to talk about the past before, but I know you. You’re not a monster. You’re my husband.”
“A husband you plan to leave someday. A husband with whom you don’t see a future, a long-term relationship.”
She doesn’t contradict me.
After my father’s death, I never thought I could feel something so strong that the pain would become physical, but looking at my wife and knowing she has plans for a life without me brings the same sensation of being torn apart from the inside.
“Rodrick, I don’t know what to say . . .”
“Forget what I said, Jazmina,” I interrupt her, in denial. “This conversation wasn’t even supposed to happen. We’re fine. As long as our marriage lasts, we’ll be fine.”
I leave the living room, but she doesn’t seem willing to let it go.