I didn’t scream. I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe. I just stared. I just watched as my wife stepped off the rooftop In front of me. She plummeted to the earth with a sickening crunch. I was still unable to move from shock as I heard the screams of the poor pedestrians that saw a woman die.
At the time I had no idea why she did it. Whenever anyone asked I…I lied. I said it was an accident. I said she tripped. I said I called her name “Mary!”. I tried to save her. They all believed me, no one even questioned if it was the truth. No one wanted to consider that someone they loved would take their own life.
After Mary took her life, mine was empty. I had no friends, anyone I did know had little sympathy for me. Even my first wife and kids didn’t do so much as get a condolence card. My life was dull and gray.
That was when the first letter arrived.
“Dear John…”
I opened it walking to my house from the mailbox. I almost collapsed. It was Mary, I would recognise her handwriting anywhere.
I ran inside my house and began to read the letter from my dead wife.
“Dear John,
I loved you so much. I truly did. But, I loved you so much it began to hurt. It began to hurt because it was clear that you didn’t love me.-”
“What?” I was so confused I couldn’t hold it in. What did she mean? If she loved me as much as she said she did then she wouldn’t have taken everything from me.
I read on.
“it was the little things, the way your smile would slightly drop when I walked into the room. The way you didn’t hug me or hold my hand. The way you got angry at every little thing. It swiftly progressed. You never smiled. You refused to be affectionate. You were angry all of the time.”
What a sick joke. I thought that maybe someone that hated me might be playing a sick prank. Maybe one of my neighbors found out and decided to have some disgusting fun.
I didn’t bother reading the rest. I tore it up and threw it in the fireplace later that night.
A few more days passed and I forgot about that sick joke of a letter. I went to work and returned. The house was too quiet nowadays so I usually drank while I listened to the radio.
One night however, there was a knock on the door. I left my seat and opened it.
Nothing. I thought at first. But then I looked down and saw another letter. Grabbing it, I returned to my seat. I tore it open and started reading.
“Dear John,
You burned my last letter. Why would you do such a heartless act? Well it’s just in your nature-”
Huh? How would they know I burned it? I didn’t tell anyone about the letter, nevertheless about burning it.
“It’s rather funny in a way. Given that everything you touch gets destroyed in one way or another.”
I was speechless.
I skimmed through the rest of the letter, it was just full of insults and lies. I downed the rest on my drink, then once again threw the letter onto the fire.
The moment the paper touched the flame a loud noise startled me.
BANG! It came from above me, so without thinking I ran upstairs.
My bedroom door was open, it swung wildly due to the wide open window in my room. I entered my room, but as I was going to close the window I noticed it. Large red text on the wall.
“Regrets again?”
My head hurt and I began to feel sick. What a horrible practical joke to play, and to break into and vandalize my house. That was too far. I decided that I should get the police involved.
I reached into my pocket. Crap I thought as I felt nothing. I walked back down the stairs and into the sitting room. The radio was playing the news as I searched for my phone. I looked around the room until something caught my attention.
“ A local woman, Mary Cooper, died in an accident last week. The local 27 year old school teacher, tragically fell to her death. She was married to disgraced businessman John Cooper, most well known fo-”
The usually calm and professional voice became hysterical and distorted.
“YOU KILLED HER DIDN’T YOU JOHN.”
“No. NO!” I shouted reflexively.
“SHE LOVED YOU AND YOU BLAMED HER. YOU’RE A MONSTER. YOU’RE A MU-”
I picked up the radio and threw it across the room, cutting off the horrible voice from spewing anymore lies.
I did not kill my wife. I loved her. I left my entire life for her. Why did I do that? Maybe I am a monster.
“NO!” I shouted into the empty room.
I sank to the floor, my head in my hands. Without the radio the silence was sharp and painful. It filled the house. It filled my head. Just silence.
Until it was broken.
A knock on the front door. Again.
That fucker is going to pay this time I thought as I got to my feet and yanked the door open aggressively. Nothing. No one was there. No one was in the street. There was no one anywhere. Then, hesitantly, cautiously. I looked down.
When I looked down I saw the city beneath me.
I turned around and realized where I was. The rooftop.
Mary stood, gazing out at the city. I stood silently. But then I didn’t.
“ I don’t love you. “ I said plainly.
She looked at me and said “ I know.”
“ I hate you. “
“…” She didn’t say anything.
“I…I want you out of my life.”
“…”
“ I want my old life back. My actual wife, my kids.”
“…” She turned away from me and back towards the city.
“Do it… If you love me, then die for me.”
As soon as the words left my mouth I watched as Mary stepped into the nothingness.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe. I just stared. I just watched.
I stood for a moment. Back outside my house again. I went inside.
I killed her. I killed Mary.
And I am sorry. I just wanted my old life back, before I even knew she existed. I… she didn’t deserve it. But I do.
There’s only two choices ahead of me.
Live with the guilt.
Or
Don’t.
I’ve made up my mind already.