I glanced over at Damon, my husband, peacefully asleep beside me. A silent plea echoed in my heart, “Three days. Just three more days. I’ll give it one last chance.”
For a fleeting moment, I thought we could go back to how things used to be. But by the end of that third day, he shattered even my smallest hopes.
——
On the countdown’s third day, I stocked up on groceries. Damon had mentioned once that barbeque always brought a little happiness.
As he left for work that morning, I called out cheerfully, “Don’t forget to come home early tonight—we’re having barbeque!”
He frowned, clearly irritated, “Why are you so happy about getting me off work early? Can you find things to do on your own? Watch a movie, go shopping, anything! You always wanted me around like 24/7. It’s exhausting!”
I panicked, stammering out a string of apologies to him.
But my remorse only made him angrier. He waved his hand dismissively.
“There you go again. We went through this last year—the doctor said you’re fine. Can you stop pretending to be sick every time you want attention? It’s called depression, Layla. Stop being pathetic!”
With that, he slammed the door and left.
Tears welled up, but I forced them back, tilting my head toward the ceiling. “Don’t cry,” I told myself. “He’ll get upset if you cry.”
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Damon.
[Fine. I’ll be home for dinner.]
The tears spilled anyway, but this time I smiled through them. He was coming home.
I slipped into my favorite white dress before heading out to shop. The air was crisp, hinting at autumn’s chill.
“Layla, isn’t that dress too thin for this weather? Aren’t you cold?” Mrs. Graham, the produce vendor, looked at me with concern.
I beamed, shaking my head. “No, Mrs. Graham. I’m fine.”
“You always come with a smiling face. It makes me a bit envious,” Mrs. Graham said as she placed some potatoes into my shopping basket.
Before I could respond, Mr. Cooper, the butcher, chimed in. “That’s true. She’s always so cheerful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her upset,” added Mr. Cooper, the butcher.
I chuckled, holding up the bags of veggies I’d bought. “My husband is coming home early for dinner. We’re having a barbecue night,” I said, trying to lift the heavy shopping bag Mrs. Graham handed me. I then walked over to Mr. Cooper to ask for slice-beef.
“You like lamb, right? I’ll throw in a little extra for you,” he offered, slicing the meat thin.
I paused for a moment before waving my hand at him. “No, it’s okay. My husband doesn’t like lamb. He says it’s too gamey, so he can’t eat it.”
Mr. Cooper froze, the lamb still in his hand. He seemed surprised by my refusal. “Alright, more beef for you then.”
As I walked home, I could hear them whispering behind me.
“He made her give up the lamb just because he doesn’t like it? What kind of husband does that?”
“Right? I mean, what’s the big deal? Just cook it separately and everyone got what they want.”
Their remarks made me laugh quietly. They didn’t understand how wonderful Damon could be.
Years ago, after my parents passed away, I fell into a deep depression. Everything felt pointless—even living. But Damon came to see me every day, always bringing my favorite foods. I’ll never forget the day he showed up with a platter of lamb skewers.
“I remember someone used to love these,” he teased, holding them out to me. “Try one and tell me if they’re authentic!”
I just stared at the ceiling, unresponsive. But Damon didn’t give up—he waved the skewers under my nose, hoping to tempt me. When I still didn’t react, he started eating them himself, declaring, “Mmm, so good!”
Except he wasn’t used to lamb and started coughing and gagging after a few bites. Watching him struggle, I couldn’t hold back my tears.
“That’s better,” he said, scooping me into his embrace. “It’s okay to cry, Layla. You still have me.”
I clung to him, sobbing for what felt like hours. That memory always warmed my heart. To me, Damon had always been a beacon of light. With that thought, I quickened my pace. I had to get everything ready before he came home. Otherwise, he’d just complain about being tired and head straight to bed.
