A Chance to Love

I held onto her with the only strength that did not abandon my worn limbs. It wasn’t my fault. I know it wasn’t my fault. But…how could it be anyone else’s?

Her voice was as relaxing as the waves, carrying memories and happiness to all who listened. The smile always plastered on her face expressed gracious kindness and tranquility. Her eyes would sparkle in the moonlight as we danced.

And now I find myself unable to even pass by the couples dancing in the same dimly lit parks I remember so vividly. Their carefree murmurs and laughter pierces my ears and drags me back to the single day I wish I would be able to stop agonizing over. But I know their joyful moments are not at fault for my unhappiness. I have only myself to blame.

She gave me love. She gave me more love than I had ever felt before, or knew was possible. Neither my friends nor my family could ever believe in me as she did. Our love was stronger than the mountains that rose from the ground and as limitless as the universe, stretching for several light-years.

It was the middle of December when we finally saved enough money to move from our small apartment in the snowy mountains. She always got cold very easily, her body would shiver at the slightest autumn breeze, even if she wore layers upon layers of clothing. I could see her face get more and more blissful as we packed the last of our belongings, ready to leave for a new house on a quiet, warm island, one we would hope to soon call our home.

We spent the long drive going over our thoughts of our new home – the view, the weather, the layout, everything. She wanted it to be perfect and I…loved her. 

“It doesn’t matter what the house looks like, as long as you will be there with me.”

Just that was enough for me to receive a lovely smile that made my heart fill with adoration for her.

This very day – the day I last saw her smile – is one I continue to remember, no matter how hard I try to forget.

As we neared the port, the chimes of bells rang in our ears. The beginning of a new hour marked the beginning of our new life.

She was a fearless person, never taking the time to think before she took action. That was the only thing I disliked about her personality. 

The churchgoers and popular shops within the small town didn’t stop the common, cruel and horrific, people from living there. 

As we drove, we spotted groups of intimidating people within the dark, tainted alleyways off of the main road. Their victims were any unfortunate passersby, which also included us. The next time I looked over, there was a woman being dragged by her hair toward one of the brightest alleys by a group of large men. She had mascara-dyed tears dripping down her face. They were absorbed into a large ball of cloth secured in her mouth, forcing her into not being able to speak – or scream. The men laughed when they saw us. My skin crawled at the idea of these filthy men.

She was pure, honest, innocent. Though she was strong-willed, she wasn’t introduced to the horrors of the real world. Until that day.

“Do you want some too?”

My blood was boiling. They weren’t only creating a victim, they were announcing their disgusting deeds as if they did nothing wrong. They were proud of themselves.

Before I could even stop the car, the woman, whom I loved with all my heart, opened her door with a glare that destroyed any piece of mercy that could have been made out before. 

She started walking toward them, and though I knew my wrongdoing, I stopped her. I grabbed her hand, making sure she couldn’t let go, at least for now. We needed to call the police, not make ourselves victims as well. 

“Let go.”

“No, we need to-”

She turned her burning glare toward me, “Let go. Now.”

Even now, I regret everything that happened that day. It was my fault that such a thing happened, why wasn’t I able to fix it? Or stop it? Could I have stopped it?

She tore her arm away from me and attacked the sickening aggressors. I was too slow to even attempt to stop her again. She was struck down. I was livid with rage – but even through this suffocating emotion – I felt fear. The fear held my back. My breathing was unsteady and quickening as the seconds were counted down. Just as I felt a drop of sweat leave my body and hit the unwavering ground, I forced my disobeying body to move. I ran, and I fought. I fought for my life and for her. I could see her laying there, her body bruised. The thick smell of blood wrapped around my nose as the sun shed its last beam of light. 

I was not of help. The exact thing I wished for - I prayed for - not to happen, did. But, instead of three, there were only two victims. Both assaulted and violated as I laid unconscious on the cold ground. Before I even fully opened my eyes the situation was clear. The tears I normally kept inside me rushed out. She, and the other woman, were curled on the concrete. Their bodies were cold, lying in a small pool of dark red blood. I pushed myself to get to her – to get closer to her. I crawled, whatever it took to get myself by her side. When I reached her I held onto her, my beloved wife, with the only strength that did not abandon my worn limbs and I cried until my body went numb from the pain. How could this not be my fault?

It has been three years since then. I expressed regret and sorrow toward the family of the victimized woman throughout these past years. I visit them and give them gifts to thank them for forgiving my insolence toward their daughter and my own wife. I did not think I deserved their forgiveness, and I still don’t, but I’ve accepted their wonderful kindness in letting me keep visiting. Every time I visit, I am greeted with the painful memories of that day - the endless phone calls, police reports, the dreadful cleanliness of the hospital room, and the endless tears of the devastated people related to the incident. It is slowly starting to get better, and I can now have a conversation with the family without apologizing or feeling a constant strand of guilt in my heart.

My late wife often asked me what I would do if I could turn back time. I couldn’t think of anything good to say then, only ordinary or irrelevant things, like studying for a test. I have an answer now. I am not proud of it nor am I happy to finally have it after years of relentless thinking, doing so simply to fulfill the curiosity of my wife. It would have been better to be satisfied by those common answers than to go through all of the pain of losing her, just for that tiny shred of contentment for finding an answer. 

She would’ve been happy though. She wanted me to experience regret. It was part of being human: troubles, hardships, regrets – they all are what makes us human.

I have learned, throughout these years, how to live without her. Every time I prepare a meal, I think that she will appear beside me, watching, as she cheers me on and giggles. I often cook for two because of this. My neighbor always eagerly takes the leftover food, which leaves me alone in this empty house with only my thoughts. I don’t know if it is for better or worse that he doesn’t stay. Even when visiting the family members of the woman who passed, I feel myself glance to the other side of the room, expecting to see my wife who’s looking a bit older and softly smiling at me. 

But, I’ve accepted the therapy offered to me graciously by my own family members. My relationship with them has gotten better. Maybe it’s because they pity me, or feel bad for how they treated me in the past. Either way, I am grateful to them for how they changed, but I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive them for their thoughtlessness in my childhood. 

She would’ve been able to though. She had a heart of gold. She was a treasure I was unworthy of.

Recently I have been thinking. Thinking about the first time we met and everything that happened after. Our wedding was beautiful. Flowers covered the tables, radiating life and accentuating her favorite colors for all to see. Pinks and dark reds flooded the room, and bright gold laced all the colors together. Her eyes were constantly traced back to me whenever we were separated that night. Almost a year later was when the incident came.

She deserved the world – and everything in it.

While I am consistently provoked by the incident, there is nothing I can do. The criminals were brought to justice, though only through limited jail time. I would’ve given them the most painful death imaginable by a human – but – I cannot afford to act on my beliefs. They deserved the worst retribution, but I cannot allow myself to bite off more than I can chew. Though I want to.

But she makes it all better. Her pictures enclose my room in vivid colors, carrying me back to the times I had her here with me. 

Sometimes I wish to join her – to see her as the angel I knew she would become. But her pictures and my memories keep her alive here. She was only one person of thousands victimized by predators. There are other people who are going through the same thing as me. Even if she was my wife – even if she was my world – she is not here anymore. I need to learn to let go. As much as I want her here to help me, I need to move on.

It’s what she wants for me, I’m sure, because she is a wonderful person who gave me a chance to love first.