Salvation

Trigger warning: the story contains self harm, depravation and killing.

SALVATION  

As I reflect on my past, I realize that I was once happy, despite my childhood being marked by the scars of my parents' daant (scoldings). Those harsh words, which once seemed like a reason to escape, have now become a treasured memory, a reminder of the love that lay beneath the surface. The fights between my parents, which once terrified me, are now something I yearn for desperately. I've come to understand that those arguments were the threads that wove their marriage together, a testament to the depth of their love. Perhaps, I think, those fights are all I need to feel truly alive. But would it even be possible to rekindle that spark now? 

My marriage was arranged by my parents. I had always dreamed of a life filled with laughter and love, a life that was the opposite of my parents' tumultuous relationship. I thought marriage would be my ticket to happiness, a chance to create a family that was whole and complete. But oh boy, how wrong was I. 

The starting months were a fragile calm, a period of adjustment in someone else's home that I desperately wanted to make my own. I assumed that every silence or passive aggression I received was a natural part of the learning curve for a new couple. I rode on the hope that time would fill in the empty gaps of our hearts, that we would eventually find our rhythm and fall into each other's arms. But how foolish was I? How naive was my understanding of other humans, as if they were simple creatures with clear boundaries between right and wrong, love and hate, a fight of nonsense or logic? I had characterized my husband, Raina, as shy and introverted, a person who didn't easily mingle, and assumed that with enough time, every piece of us would fall into place. But those were bloody assumptions driven by hope, and I was blind to the reality of our relationship.  

As I sit on this bed, the pungent smell of disinfectant wafting up to my nose, I'm flooded with memories of our sparse conversations. Raina and I rarely spoke, and when we did, it was brief and perfunctory. I recall the monotony of our exchanges: "Welcome, this is the kitchen, bathroom, drawing room, and bedroom." "I'm going to work." "Hmm, okay, I'll ask." At first, these conversations may have seemed like a gentle breeze on a summer night, but in reality, they were icy and distant. This was the pattern of our communication for eight long years. I remember trying to reach out to him during working hours, asking about his food preferences in the early days of our marriage. But he shut me down, his voice firm: "Don't ever bother me during work hours again. I don't have the time. Just ask whatever you want at home." And with that, he hung up. To this day, I still don't know his likes or dislikes. We never fought, so we never had the chance to make up, to bridge the gap between us.  

We had three beautiful children together, a testament to the physical connection that still existed between us, despite the emotional chasm that had grown wider with each passing day. Our eldest son was seven, our middle child five, and our little girl just four. Yet, the silence between us was suffocating, eating away at my insides like a cancer. Even our intimate moments felt like a mechanical routine, a chore to be endured rather than a passionate expression of love. It was as if we were just going through the motions, like animals mating without any emotional connection. But I held on to the hope that one day, he would open up to me, that one day, he would let me in. And then, it happened.                                                   

                                         * 

My longing for emotional attachment grew into an obsession. It was a normal day, all three kids had gone to school, it was a holiday for him. It would have remained that way if not for that phone call.  

As I worked in the kitchen, preparing our lunch, I was suddenly interrupted by a sound that made my heart skip a beat. He laughed out loud, his hearty chuckle a stark contrast to his usual poker-faced aloofness, and for a moment, I saw a glimmer of innocence and love in his eyes. I thought he was incapable of it all. I wished he would show that face to me one day, just me.  

The sound of his voice on the phone was a rare occurrence, especially when he was at home on a regular working day. I had asked him if he was unwell, knowing that he never took unnecessary days off, not even when our child was sick. But today, he was home, and his response was curt: "Go cook, do your job. Don't disturb me." His words were laced with an air of dismissal, and I felt a pang of suspicion growing inside me. Was it possible that he had never intended to give me his heart, that he had someone else in his life? The questions swirled in my mind like a vortex: "What about me? My love? My desires for emotional connection?" I had always avoided confrontations, fearing that he would see me as a burden and love me less. But now, as my children walked through the door, returning from school, I felt a sense of unease settling in.  

As dinnertime approached, I called out to the kids to wash up before dinner was served. But before I could even start cooking, my husband's voice cut through the air: "Don't bother making dinner for me, I'm meeting a friend and will eat out." He was already dressed in fresh clothes, ready to leave. I watched him go, feeling a mix of frustration and concern. He returned late, his footsteps echoing through the apartment as he stumbled in, reeking of alcohol and with a flushed face. He barely acknowledged me, heading straight for the bed without so much as a glance in my direction. I was left pacing the floor, my mind racing with questions. 

Would things have turned out differently if I had confronted him then, if I had demanded answers? The what-ifs haunted me, refusing to let me be.  

The next day, my husband rushed out of the house, avoiding eye contact and leaving me with a sense of unease. The suspicion that had been simmering in the back of my mind began to boil over. I went through the motions of getting the kids ready for school, my mind racing with thoughts of what could be going on. As soon as they were out the door, I made the impulsive decision to visit Raina's office for the first time. I hailed an auto, the hot, dry wind whipping through my hair as I sped towards his workplace. My palms were slick with sweat, my mind spinning with worst-case scenarios. What if he was cheating on me? The question echoed in my mind like a mantra as I arrived at his office building and made my way to his floor.  

As I entered the office, my eyes scanned the room until they landed on a stunning woman standing by Raina's desk, her saree-clad body a vision of beauty. My heart skipped a beat as I took in the scene, my mind racing with questions. The receptionist, who had escorted me to the desk, announced my presence, and the room fell silent. Every face turned towards me; confusion etched on their features. Raina's eyes snapped towards me, his expression a mix of surprise, anger, and something else - a spark of intensity that I had never seen before. He strode towards me, his long strides eating up the distance, and grasped my arm firmly. I felt a shiver run down my spine as he glared at me, his voice low and menacing. "Why have you come here?" he hissed, his eyes blazing with anger. "I told you never to come to my office."  

"I just wanted to check on your health," I said, trying to sound casual despite the turmoil brewing inside me. Raina's response was curt, his sigh a clear indication of his annoyance. "I'm fine. Now leave," he said, his hand on my arm, propelling me towards the elevator. He pressed the button and stood there, his eyes fixed on me, until the doors closed. I felt a pang of frustration as I descended to the ground floor, my mind still racing with questions. And then I remembered - I had forgotten to ask him about the kids' school fees. I turned around and headed back up, my heart pounding in my chest. As I approached his desk, I overheard a snippet of conversation that made my blood run cold. "Did you see that lady from before?" someone asked, and another voice replied, "Yeah, I was there when Raina came back to explain the situation. He said his brother sent her as a joke to prank him."  

"Wow, guys can be really weird sometimes," someone chuckled. "I mean, who pulls off a prank like that?" 

"Totally agree," another voice chimed in. "And Raina's definitely not married. I've never seen a single photo of this so-called wife, or even a phone call from her. His brother really dropped the ball on this one." 

The group erupted into laughter, and someone added, "Yeah, it's pretty weird that a wife would just show up out of nowhere. You'd think he'd at least try to make it believable. 

"The conversation continued, with someone saying, "Raina should really introduce Maria to his parents soon. It's been a while, and stuff like that can be really hurtful to her." 

Another person chimed in, "And can you imagine their kids? They'd be like total foreigners or something." 

The group laughed again, and Maria said, "Okay, okay, I'm blushing over her. But I'm definitely giving his brother a piece of my mind for pulling a prank like that again."The group cheered in agreement, with someone saying, "Yeah, you go girl!"  

In that moment, I felt like I'd been reduced to nothing, like dust scattered in the wind. Broken, shattered, and utterly lost. I trudged back home, my legs heavy with the weight of my emotions. I collapsed onto the sofa, and for the first time ever, a tear rolled down my cheek. Soon, I was consumed by sobs, wailing at the discovery that had shattered my world. My kids came home, trying to comfort their sorrow-filled, pitiful mother. But I couldn't be comforted, and soon I stopped crying. Raina returned home, his anger and frustration palpable in the air. He didn't say a word, but his silence was deafening. He told the kids to go to their room, then turned to me, his grip on my hair like a vice. "I told you never to come to my office, didn't I?" he shouted, his face red with rage. "You're such a useless person, can't even follow a simple direction!" 

I replied, my voice shaking with anger and hurt, "So your Maria isn't a useless person, huh? Just because she works there?" 

 ‘What's wrong with you, Serena? You think you can compare to Maria? Just drop it and go cook dinner like you're supposed to,’ Raina snapped, his voice dripping with disdain as he turned and walked away.  

My hands trembled with rage as I glared at him, the words 'you failed me' burning on my lips. I felt like I was staring into the abyss, the chasm between us growing wider with every passing moment. 

 I was done with everything. I sent my kids out to play, and in the meantime, I poured kerosene oil on the mattress, my heart heavy with the weight of my emotions. When they returned, I served them dinner, trying to pretend that everything was normal. Then I put them to bed, around midnight, my mind racing with thoughts of what I was about to do. I set the mattress on fire, and soon, I followed, my heart consumed by the flames. I don't remember who brought me to the hospital, my body wracked with pain and my mind foggy with medication. 

The doctor entered my ward, his voice somber as he delivered the news: "Serena, you've suffered ninety percent burns all over your body. It's a miracle you've survived." My heart sank, my eyes welling up with tears. The result of my actions eating me up "What about my kids? Are they still alive? Please, tell me they are!"  

The doctor's words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his apology. "I'm sorry, but they didn't survive. The investigation is ongoing to determine how the mattress caught on fire. Your parents spoke to the police on your behalf, so you rest up. 

"I started wailing, my voice shaking with grief and anger. "Why Why did this happen? Oh, someone turn back the time back!" Sobbing. "Why couldn't I just love what I had Infront of me. Why I had considered a love from some other half to be the salvation I would need to live. Why did my children had to suffer? Why did I do that over someone like him Ahhhhh!" screaming aloud. 

                                        *

It's been three years since that fateful night. My children are gone, lost in the flames that consumed our lives. My husband, too, is gone, leaving me alone to bear the weight of my grief. Every night, I'm tormented by nightmares of my children, their screams echoing in my mind as they burn, pleading to be saved and loved just as I once yearned for love. The questions that haunt me are relentless: What was their fault? Were they not innocent bystanders, suffering alongside me from the absence of a loving father figure? What right did I have to take their lives, to burn them away like that? These agonizing questions haunt me every day and night, a constant reminder of my unforgivable mistake.  

Every day, I long to remain lost in the darkness of sleep, praying that it would be my eternal refuge. The only thing that stops me from surrendering to this despair is the faint glimmer of hope that my children would not want me to give up. At least they loved me, unconditionally and without judgment. From the beginning, I had misguidedly sought salvation in the wrong person, but it was my children who truly loved me. I should have learned to love myself, if only for their sake.  

As I lay in the darkness, the weight of my grief slowly lifting, I began to whisper a new mantra to myself: 'I will forgive myself. I will learn to love myself, not for my own sake, but for the sake of my children, who loved me unconditionally.