The Day I Let My Wife Leave

A little rushed and messy - be warned (Mental Health + Violent Thoughts/Action)

You could say I regret little to nothing, or I regret absolutely everything – no matter the opinion there, you’re correct to a certain degree. But this isn’t me writing about something I don’t regret, this is my writing about something I do regret. And just like you, I’ve got plenty of regrets. The only problem is that I’ve never regretted anything more than this.

The day I let my wife leave.

I think that’s what I’ll call this one, since I’m not very bright and certainly don’t have it in me to think of something so magnificent for a title. After all, you’re not here for a special title. You’re here for the reason why my wife left and why I let her.

So, when did this happen exactly? Well, it was the day of our son’s birthday. Max’s birthday. Selene was in the kitchen, frosting the cake she made special just for him. I always admired that about her. She’d bake just about anyone a cake for their birthday, always remembering your favorite flavor of frosting, what color sprinkles you’d enjoy, and of course, the flavor of the cake as a whole. It was one of the many things I loved about her.

How could I have possibly let her leave? She was always so gentle. She loved Max like he was her own, my own. Max was her sister’s son, but her sister drowned while on vacation, leaving Max to us. We did everything we could to be the best parents possible. We saw him as our son, never a stray or an orphan.

His father died very early in his life. Lung cancer. He’s the reason I quit smoking so early. I was a pretty heavy smoker when I first met Selene. Then she told me that story and I never touched a cigarette again. It was for the best.

Selene and I have been married for nearly ten years now. Max’s mother, Selene’s sister, has been dead now for four years. Max just turned nine.

He should be here as of me writing this, but of course he’s not. No, he’s not. And I’ll get into why soon. I just find it hard to contain myself from crying right now, and we wouldn’t want that. It won’t change what’s already happened.

I wrap an arm around Selene’s waist and she lets out a small exhale and a laugh. “I love you,” I tell her.

“I love you too,” she whispers, concentrating on getting the perfect swirl.

Max is outside, but he comes in for a drink, stopping when he sees the cake. His eyes glimmer like he’s just seen the greatest thing in the world, and to him, he has.

“Happy birthday, kiddo,” I tell him.

“No way,” he says. “All this for me?”

Selene smiles. “You can have a piece after dinner.”

“Darn,” he exhales, and she rubs the top of his head.

I turned to the oven, beginning dinner – I did the cooking in the house, she did the baking (as I made somewhat obvious).

As I slid the knife from the knife block, that’s when the thoughts began. Those are thoughts no man should ever have about his family. And those thoughts? Well, I had the sudden urge to kill them both. I knew it was twisted, but I just couldn’t help myself.

I shook my head, hoping to clear my intrusive feelings. Max ran back out to play and Selene was placing the cake in the fridge. She always liked it cold.

And I wanted so badly to see what my hands looked like wrapped around her neck. What she felt like when she was cold.

“Everything alright, dear?” she asks me, breaking me from my apparent intense staring.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”

She hands me a few of the ingredients for tonight’s dinner, and I begin preparing our meal, careful not to let the knife slip, because I fear it may not be a slip.

She wanders out of the kitchen and I’m left alone to my own devices. Now, what I’m about to tell you just might change your view of me if it hasn’t already.

Max is allergic to pecans. Myself, well, I enjoy some nice pecans pretty frequently. I make sure to keep them away from him, somewhere where it won’t hurt him. But I suppose I found myself unconsciously moving to the cabinet with the pecans and crushing them into our dinner.

Max, ever-so-curious, comes sprinting inside for another drink. That boy loved his lemonade.

“Is it ready yet?” Max whines.

“Not yet. Soon,” I tell him.

And before I can stop him, he’s reaching his hand into the hot pan, grabbing an asparagus.

“Woah, hey! It’s hot, you’ve got to be careful.”

He pops it into his mouth, messily, and it hits me that he’s eaten the crushed pecans, and any moment now he’s going to die. I know this because I know every one of his allergies, every one of his warning signs that he’s eaten something he’s allergic to.

I can’t believe I did this to the poor boy. Why did I do this? What led me to act on those terrible thoughts? Those terrible thoughts that led to the destruction of my family?

Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because I’ve been a sick man for a very long time now. And I as I stand there, watching him choke, his face as pale as a ghost – a corpse, I realize I can’t do anything to help him. I’m rooted in the same spot I’ve been standing the entire time. I’m watching him die, making no effort to save him.

Selene screams in horror when she stumbles in to find Max collapsed on the floor.

“What are you doing?! Don’t just stand there!”

I look up at her, nothing in my eyes revealing how I feel at this moment. I probably looked like a psychopath, I realized. It’s why she had every right to leave me.

I kept staring at her, my gaze empty, but hard. The thought of killing her came to mind, but I couldn’t bear that loss.

She was seething with rage, coming around to hit me, jabbing Max with his EpiPen.

“What did you do to him?!” She yells.

“I don’t know,” I tell her.

“What did you do?!” Tears were streaming down her face now. Tears that I caused.

“I don’t know,” I repeat, quieter now.

“I’m taking him to the hospital. And if you even think about coming along or setting any foot near him again, so help me I will kill you myself!”

The once gentle woman I had known for the last ten years of our marriage was gone. And I really couldn’t tell you if what I regretted from her leaving was the fact I regretted that I caused her to leave, or regretted letting her walk free – alive. Maybe I should have killed them both. Maybe there’s still time.