I know he’s emotionally not into me.
And I know he tries. Oh, how he tries. And I know he’s slipping.
It’s been five months of this, this charade. Holy matrimony, they called it, waving us goodbye. Holy crap, I told myself. I was right.
You know how people say a marriage changes everything? It does. It changed me. I’m calm. Calmer. Sweeter. Kinder. Nicer. A lot more patient. A lot more vulnerable. I quit my job to come live with him. Lisbon is beautiful. And so is he.
The problem is, the rest of the women think so too.
His longish hair. Proud cheekbones. That nose. Those eyes. Everything. When it comes to the Indian custom of the famous arranged marriage, boy, did I hit the jackpot. My husband Raghav is perfection. Husband. Did I just say that out loud? Six months and I still feel…new.
He’s asleep as I stay awake, thoughts chasing each other like crazy inside my head. This is the fourth time this week he’s talked in his sleep. I hear him say the same name. Like a prayer. Over and over. Pooja.
Some nights he makes love to me and he’s so gentle I almost manage to ignore him saying her name – almost.
Some nights I want to kill whoever she is.
Some nights I want to kill him.
Some nights, I want to set myself on fire.
And some nights, like this one, I look down at my belly and feel the life growing in there. And I can’t bring myself to do it.
Do I lose my man to her?
Do I lose to her?
Some nights I know what to do. Like tonight. I let him go. I leave the signed divorce papers in the hall where he can see them first thing. They’re a tad bit wet with my tears, but that’s okay. I wish I could watch him watch the baby grow, but I’m barely showing anyway. He doesn’t have to know.
Some nights you know it’s okay to lose, in the name of love.