How do you mend a broken heart, she asked, the same question, everyday, since last week, the day she joined us.

I looked at her, we all did, but no one could meet her in the eye. Those deep wounded green eyes, eyelashes moist, tears flowing down her snow white cheeks.  She was on the verge of losing it all, at the threshold of insanity, knocking on its door, while keeping her ground on the other side.

Silence was screaming all around us but no one gave her an answer. Everyone had tried to comfort her with what they thought would comfort her misery. But she could not find her peace, absurd as all the answers were for her unyielding pain.

She was now a regular face. She would come to our intervention every evening, tears streaked across her face, disheveled hair, her soul in pieces, intact only by the hemming threads of her black gown, so it would seem. She had recently lost a loved one, her husband. She evoked pity, sympathy and a strange empathy among us all. We all had lost some one close to us. We all were in the process of healing, recovering from that unexpected blow, coping to deal with the pain and working our ways into normal routines. It was all so different for her.

She had lost not just her husband, but all the life she had with him. She had lost with him, her love, her trust, her sense of reason. She was despising her simple self for never having known the man she was married to. How could it be? How did she never see? Her life with him, seemed to her a mirage now. She kept asking us, if she was real? If everything around was real, or was she imagining it. Was it a dream? Their happy marriage, their family of three beautiful children?  Was it real or was she in some other dimension of time?

The day of his funeral. That was the day she discovered. A separate world. Another family, another wife, two twin boys, a little girl much like her own, devastated that they were not there in his last moments. Watching them, her, on the other side of his coffin, the betrayal heavily dawning upon her, clenching her heart strongly, aching in grief at this atrocity, she lost her sense of reality.

How do you mend a broken heart, she asked, making her way to the door. While we sat looking at her go, distraught, at her agony, immersed in the sorrows of our own pain.



Picture Credits: MJ Valentine 

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