For a love story

Last night, I visited my wife at dawn. She was full of life and had accepted Christ. She spoke softly, wasn’t mad at her watcher nor did she ask him to bring bread on his way the next day when his shift was leaving. She had accepted she couldn’t leave me even if she chooses to.

I waited until dusk and I watched her cry her heart out in the pillow. She wore a mask of strength at noon but couldn’t hide the pain from the moon. I was satisfied with both expressions because how else would she express her love to me if she doesn’t think of why she murdered me over untrue suspicions?

Tomide Abdul