I remembered every single second of that afternoon.
Every detail I still recalled.
There was the chase.
My body was filled with adrenaline.
It started on a Monday morning.
My steak was charred solid.
The coffee was spilled all over the table.
Her face had that guilt-filled lip biting habit, like the one from the time she crashed our first car on a shopping trip.
Even though I knew that there was something wrong, I pretended everything was fine.
On Tuesday night, when I came home from work, she tried hiding that tear stained face of hers.
I gave her space.
Then came Wednesday, I woke up to the broken plates under the table.
I kissed her on the cheek but she wiped it off.
Thursday, I was worried.
I called her in the phone.
She told me that she was fine.
Her voice shook as she spoke each word.
I came home early that night.
I tried to touch her shoulder but she dodged.
I hugged her afterwards but she quickly pushed me away.
I asked her, “Is anything wrong? Have I done anything?”
She replied with the most fake smile.
I knew it took every bit of her strength to fake it.
I looked her in the eyes and told her that “I want the truth. You know I hate it when you lie.”
Tears flowed out her eyes.
She knelt and said, “I’m so sorry. Please. I am. I tried. I can’t!”
I knew what went wrong.
Nothing I did was right.
I slept alone in the couch that night.
She had the bedroom all to herself.
Friday.
I never forgot.
I went to work as usual.
In the afternoon, I felt worried again.
I called home.
“I’m so sorry. Please. I am. I tried. I can’t!”
Her voice was weak.
In a split second, I ran.
I rode my car and went straight home.
In my head was the image of my dear wife.
I simply could not let her go.
At the bridge, a taxi cab hit my rear.
My car was busted.
The driver came out and tried to apologize.
I did not care.
I ran.
The long line of cars was the sign of the impending traffic.
I ran.
I never stopped.
My lungs were pumping hard.
The adrenaline filled my veins.
I knew what would happen.
I took a shortcut that led to the back of our house.
I rushed inside.
I went up to our bed room.
There I found blood stains.
I knew she was dead.
I failed her.
I knelt down and cried.
A hand pushed me down the ground.
I shouted back.
Tears flowed down my eyes.
Something hit the back of my head.
I blacked out.
I woke up in a chair.
“Ah! Good morning Mr. Wayne! I have some questions for you.”
I was confused.
“I really need to go! My wife! She committed suicide! I need to go to-”
“You don’t remember do you?”
Further confused I asked, “What?”
“You had been gone for a week since Friday. You murdered your wife.”
“When you went back to your office, they alerted us. We guessed you’d return home,” he added.
My eyes widened.
I stood up immediately.
Two guards came out and pushed me down on the table.
I remembered.
I sat in the corner of my cell as I recalled everything.
“I’m so sorry. Please. I am. I tried. I can’t!”
“I love you but we have to make this work!”
Her face hit the floor with her lip bit carved.
I remembered every single second of that afternoon.
Every detail I still recalled.
There was the murder.
My body filled with adrenaline.
In my nightmares, there was the chase.
