Pink Lilies

The divorce hit him hard. He tried his best to avoid it but he couldn’t do a thing. She was hell bent on leaving him. He tried to cling on till the last minute hoping for a change of heart. But is just didn’t happen. She finally had it her way. She wanted out and she was out. He was shattered.

This was his second divorce but this one jolted him more than the first time. That was something he wanted. And he managed to get it without much fuss. His first wife was upset but it didn’t matter much to him. He felt happy to be off that marriage. This one was different. He thought he’d finally found true love and letting her go was too painful for him.

As he drove from the courts to his apartment his mind was filled with thoughts about them. Memories of happy moments flashed across him and he kept reliving them in a hopeless attempt to think of a recovery. Could he ever get her back in his life, he wondered. He kept speeding as he raced towards his house.

He entered his empty apartment which no longer felt like home to him. She made it home and now in her absence it felt odd. Almost everything in the flat reminded him of her. He dropped his car keys in the bowl and headed straight for the bar. Which they both had designed and filled up. With their choice of spirits. So many moments of red wine and whiskey, music and musings, passionate love making, all came back to him. He pulled out a bottle of single malt, which they had bought together from a local brewery in Pitlochry, Scotland. It was her anniversary present to him, only last year. So much had changed in just one year, he thought to himself as he took a swig straight from the bottle. He flopped himself down on the couch, bottle in hand, as he stared vacantly in no particular direction. His life seemed just as aimless to him at the moment.

He didn’t know how long he was on the couch. But he woke up almost after a whole day. Or so it seemed to him. His head was dizzy and his eyes felt unfocused. He faintly heard the doorbell ring as he groggily lifted himself off the couch and headed towards the door.

He opened the door to see her standing. With a bright smile on her face.

It was Isabelle. His first wife.

Hi honey, she smiled. I knew how heartbroken you might be and thought or checking on you. She was carrying a brown paper bag and a bunch of pink lilies.

I knew you’d probably not eat well and hence got some groceries for you, her smile was intact as she handed the big bag to him.

I’ve been through this myself so I know well. How it feels to be rejected by the person you love the most. And have no way of getting him back in your life. I know the pain, she spoke nonchalantly, looking directly in his eyes all the while.

He was too stunned to react.

How can you, how is it…he could barely complete his sentence before he felt like he was slipping in to a deep sleep. He could almost feel himself collapsing against the open door. Her smiling face was the last thing he remembered seeing before his eyes shut.

He woke up at his own door after an eternity by the vibrations of his cell phone in his pocket.

Isabella passed away last night, alone in her council house room in Brighton. It was a message from his sister. She had kept in touch with her till her last days.

He was still lying by his door, his cell phone in his hand. From the corner of his eyes he could see a bunch of dried up pink lilies.

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