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Bruised, but not broken

She brushed back a lock of hair which was getting in her black, swollen eye–it was still tender. They had eloped and gotten married three years ago. There was so much love. But now, she always had a feeling that something was wrong. He always seemed tense, tired, and most of all, unhappy.

She would wake up with bruises and hazy memories. She would cry wondering why he hit her. She always thought of herself as a strong woman but she didn’t know that woman anymore. This was the last straw. She had to get away. She picked up the phone and pressed send.

His phone vibrated on the desk. There was a message. It was from her. It read, I’m leaving you. His grip on the cell phone tightened as he got up and walked out of the office.

This was typical of her, he thought. Running away every time things got a little out of hand. It was the sixth time she was doing this. Earlier twice he had found her at her mother’s and thrice at a friend’s place.

He remembered how she used to be before–so chirpy and full of life. But now, she was unhappy. Unhappy being a housewife; unhappy she couldn’t have a baby; unhappy with the weather, but worst of all, she was unhappy with him. The routine was simple–she would hurt herself, he would beg her to stop, he would cry and accept it all as his fault. He didn’t know what to do anymore.

Two years ago, she was diagnosed with a mental disorder. The doctors were stumped, his parents wanted him to leave her and things had only gotten worse after that. He didn’t know how to fix it.

All he knew was that he loved her and would never let her go.

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