The End

I don't know what stings more. My cheek, my eyes from holding back tears, or my heart.

My heart has no right to feel hurt.

A gasp. Then soft hands caressing the spot that stings. "I'm sorry I didn't- did that hurt?" she worries.

"You've got it backwards hon-" I bite my tongue. The grip I had on her shoulders loosens and my arms become dead weight by my sides. I want to crumble to the ground. Plead at her feet for forgiveness. "I'm the one who should be sorry. And I am. I'm so sorry I never realized how much you were hurting." I squeeze my eyes as the tears finally fall. I wipe my face aggressively, agitating my stinging cheek but I pay no mind to it.

"I know you feel sorry, but that won't fix this." She crosses her arms. She sounds so resolute. So sure. "It won't change the past. There's no future. There's just now and the hurt."

"How can you say that?" I beg weakly. It's a wonder I still have the strength to stand.

"What do you expect? We both want different things. And those things are not trivial matters. And if you think they are then we'll never see eye-to-eye."

"I just wish there was something I could've done. I don't want to lose you."

She rubs the spot on her shoulder. "Yeah, I can tell."

I feel my neck getting hot. Shame. Anger. Defeat. I've lost her. It's not a new realization, but it feels like it's really sinking in now. Third time's the charm.

And yet, I can't stop looking at her. I can't stop craving her touch or her voice. "I miss you." I say out loud by mistake. What else do I have to lose?

A sharp exhale paired with a roll of her eyes. "Yeah, I can tell that too." She shakes her head, a lock of her hair coming lose. My hand twitches but she beats me to it and tucks it behind her ear. That used to be my job. She steps back and massages her neck. That used to be my job. She goes to get a glass of water. Not two. That's not her job anymore.

She finishes the glass and lets the empty glass plop loudly on the counter. A deep breath. "I know you're worried about the news. I don't know how things are going to affect us, if at all. But I did promise you that I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize your status here. I also told you that my patience is incredibly thin and everytime you show up in front of me, it weakens it even more. Not only does it hurt me to see you like this again and again, but it hurts you too."

"You could come with me."

"What do you mean?"

I approach her and fill up water in the same glass. She lets me, eyes following my every movement. As I turn to sip water from the same spot her lips were, I stare at her.

"... you're not seriously suggesting I move to a different country for you, right?"

I shrug. I'm not sure what I'm trying to say. But I just want to keep talking to her. I want her to keep looking at me, even if it's full of hate.

She grabs the glass out of my hands, turns to dump the rest down the drain and keeps her back to me as she slams the glass down on the countertop.

"Get out." Her voice is low. Almost dangerous.

"You really could come with me."

"Stop. Talking. And get out."

"You don't even want to be here!" What the hell am I saying? That's not the point. But I can't let go. I can't.

"Oh really? When did I say that?" The sharpness in her voice matches her gaze. And yet all I can do is be glad she's looking at me again.

"You always say this country sucks and that–"

"The problem isn't the country, it's you! I could move anywhere I want but not with you. And yes this country is an absolute shit show right now but my whole life is here. That's... one of the reasons why I married you. So you could have that stability of having one final place to call home. And you'll have it. You'll be able to stay. Just not with me."

"What's another reason?"

"I'm not going to talk about it anymore. I'm done. I told you to leave."

"Tell me. Please. Why else did you marry me?" She avoids my gaze and walks past me to the couch where my jacket was thrown off.

She grabs the jacket and shoves it into my chest. "You should know I hate repeating myself. I've done it too many times already today. Just leave me alone."

I grab my jacket and toss it back on the couch. I feel like an idiot. Standing my ground for a lost cause. "Tell me again."

She grabs the jacket, "get," and shoves it back into my chest, "out." She shoves and I begin to step back. We keep taking steps backwards. It wasn't supposed to be like this. How did we end up like this?

"Did you ever really love me?"

"There's no way I would have done something as stupid as marrying you if I didn't. There, happy?" She had continued to shove me until I was at the front door. She unlocks and pulls on the handle, but I hold it so the door doesn't open all the way. She pauses. Then steps back to cross her arms again. Silently, flicks her head to motion me to get out. She's standing her ground, meanwhile I feel like the earth removed itself from underneath me. My neck is still hot. Shame. Disgrace. Defeat. My throat chokes me with all the words I want to say. But I can't. They die on my tongue just like how our love died on that day 7 months ago. It died.

Died.

Dead.

...

"You can fill out this form now," the lawyer says. The office room feels so... sterile. Blank. Empty.

"Removal of conditions for conditional green card," I mumble as I read out loud. Just to fill the space with something. "Name, date of birth, ok all that... check box for conditional... and spouse sponsorship. Special circumstances..." my finger hovers over the checkbox for 'Divorced'. The words blur as tears gather immediately. It still hurts. I don't think it'll ever stop hurting. Her last words replaying in my head every night. Every hour.

There, happy?

Never. I don't think I'll ever be happy again.

"...widow. Check."