6:00 o’clock.
He found his way home at 6:00 o’clock in the morning. He went straight to the bathroom, turned on the shower and stayed there until he heard the front door being shut.
It was the eighth time he’d done just that.
She was not counting, but who knew that every time he did it, her heart broke, a dimming of a light that wanted to shine bright. She would get to work, put on her smile and attend to clients all day. He would text once or call sometime towards the evening, “I’ll be working late.”
She would ask herself, “Working on who?” but would simply text back or answer “It’s okay love.”
Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love.
She said it for every time he came home late…she would say it to herself, not to him, he did not deserve to see her break.
When she asked her friends for advice, some shook their head and then continued chatting on their phones and taking selfies. Some friends pitied her while others told her to hang in there. He was going through something and if she butted in, he would not resolve it. “If your man wants space, give it to him, or else you’ll lose him.”
So, she sat on her desk, called the florist outside their office building and asked him to wrap two roses…in brown wrapping and deliver them to his office…
One last time.
nilichoandika 