“She lost a shoe running away. Wonder if it hurt walking barefoot on that gravel road.”
“I saw Diana working a KTV shift last time. Made her drink a whole bottle.”
“Turns out she's allergic to alcohol. Her face swelled up like a balloon and they had to pump her stomach. Hilarious.”
Photo after photo of me at my most pathetic.
Humiliation after humiliation, exposed and recorded.
Strung together, they were my three years of exhaustion and shame.
My eyes ached from staring at the screen too long.
I turned away, trying to untangle the web of connections.
After Marlin's cancer diagnosis, he'd been depressed every day.
I hadn't wanted to add to his burden.
So I carried everything alone, in silence.
When I got off work late, or when the injuries were too bad to hide,
I'd downplay things so he wouldn't worry, giving him just enough of the truth.
Every time, he'd look at me with reddened eyes and say,
“Diana, you've worked so hard.”
I'd joke that I was just having a run of bad luck.
Work wasn't going well. Doors kept closing in my face.
He'd laugh softly and pull me into his arms.
“That's because you met me and used up all your good luck.”
“When I get better, I'll give it all back to you—double.”
When he said those things, Marlin's expression was so impossibly gentle.
Gentle enough that I couldn't help imagining our future together, over and over again.
How could I have known, back then?
The man I loved, the one who shared my bed, was the source of every misfortune.
My heart was pounding.
Old wounds, layered over years, throbbed beneath my skin.
I curled into myself the way I used to as a child, making myself as small as I could.
I held it in, and held it in again.
The tears came anyway.
I was useless.
Couldn't save Grandma Evelyn. Couldn't hold on to the man I loved.
Someone like me.
It was like I was born without the ability to have happiness.
After I cried myself out, I felt a little lighter.
I was also a little hungry.
I went to the kitchen and boiled myself a bowl of instant noodles.
When I opened the fridge, Marlin's carefully packed lunch box was still sitting inside.
The carrot diced into tiny, meticulous pieces.
Every shrimp peeled and lined up in a neat row.
Before, these small gestures had always moved me.
I'd taken them as proof that he loved me.
Now, looking back.
These habits must have come from his time with Christina.
Christina didn't like carrots. Didn't like getting her hands dirty peeling shrimp.
When she was little, her father had always done it for her.
Must be nice, being the bad guy's daughter.
Loved by someone your whole life.
I threw the lunch box in the trash.
Then, hardening my heart, I cracked two eggs into my bowl.
Before, I'd thought of Marlin as a sick man. Every good thing went to him first, to keep his strength up.
Not anymore.
A full bowl of noodles warmed me from the inside.
I was about to call the wedding company to confirm the arrangements
when the hospital called.
“Ms. Henson—your grandmother killed herself at the hospital!”
The words hit like a bolt of lightning splitting open a clear sky.
I didn't stop to think. I grabbed a cab and rushed to the hospital.
Grandma Evelyn's bed was empty.
The young nurse who'd been looking after her stood there, guilt written across her face, holding out a letter.
“I'm so sorry, Ms. Henson.”
“She found out somehow that your boyfriend has cancer.”
“She didn't want you to carry that kind of burden, so she chose to end her life……”
My hands were shaking as I opened the envelope.
Crooked, unsteady handwriting, every line telling me to live well with Marlin.
