I walked into the coffee shop and saw him sitting at the usual spot where we used to tarry after church every Sunday. He waved at me with his perfectly angulated hand that was once used to caress my head on a gentle Saturday morning, after a night of loud music and dancing.

It had been three years, but he still looked the same. Except for his eyes, which looked like they had aged significantly. They were no longer the eyes of a three-month old puppy eagerly welcoming its soul mate home, but they resembled a wilted flower, waiting for its time to pass.

There were two cups of coffee on the table. His was half-empty. Mine was tepid. He must have been waiting for some time. Perhaps, it was intentional that I had let him wait. Twenty-five minutes was nothing compared to the two agonising weeks that he had left me to wait because he needed space from our relationship, which had gone as tepid as the coffee on the table. But of course, anxious old me could not wait for three days – let alone two full weeks – so there we were, two almost-strangers, meeting over coffee to write the epilogue of our story.

“How have you been?” He asked.

“I’ve got a new job. I don’t love it, but I don’t hate it either. I’m happy on some days, when the weather isn’t too warm, or cold. Or when my coffee is perfectly brewed. But other than that, most of the time it feels like there’s not enough oxygen to go around. I’m gasping for air, really. Nothing has changed, I’m still anxious old me,” was what I wanted to say. 

Instead, all I said was, “Good. What about you?” 

He replied with many words that didn’t mean much. He was always gifted at filling up space with words after words – something that I was never good at.

After half an hour of pleasantries, we ran out of things to say. There was an awkward silence for what felt like a minute, as I noticed the vibrations in my coffee and a dump truck passing us by. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “Evie, where did we go wrong?”

I had told myself a thousand times the day before to remain calm no matter what he says. But in that split second, my heart started to beat rapidly and a fresh swell of rage rose in me. 

It had been three years. What on earth was he doing in the past three years while I ruminated, every single day, about what had gone wrong between us? How could he have the audacity to ask where we went wrong?

But I bit my tongue. I hated how I always spoke too much when I was anxious and he never had anything to say when it mattered. And how the more I tried to pull him in, the more he pushed me away. I was determined to measure my words and make them count this time round. 

“When our marriage was falling apart, instead of talking to me about it, instead of trying to fix it, you chose to shut me out and put your head in that… that stupid project of yours.” The more I spoke, the angrier I became as the memories flooded in. 

“You said that it was too important and you couldn’t afford to be distracted. But look where it is now! It is nowhere to be seen, as with the bond between us that once seemed timeless and unbreakable.” I was mad.

“You made a promise to me. I don’t understand what could have been more important than our marriage. Our love! I don’t understand how you could let someone you love cry herself to sleep and wish she would never awake. I hope you regret it now. When you’re all alone in your dark and empty apartment with your stupid project dead and buried in the ground and with no one to love.” Hot tears were spilling out of corner of my eyes.

He didn’t say a word. Just like before, he had nothing to say. He took my hands and wrapped them gently with his own. They were warm, but they no longer brought me any comfort. Instead, it felt as though they were making a mockery of me.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as he stood up and planted a kiss on my forehead.

I watched his silhouette as he walked away from me, once again. I knew exactly what was on his mind even though he hadn’t said a word. He was my man, after all. The one who held me to sleep every night, who comforted me with his warm embrace and showed me a side of him that no one had ever seen. 

He knew that I was right. He should never have ran way from my bids of intimacy. He should have prioritised our covenant. And he should never have left me there to bleed.

But as the door closed behind him, I also knew that he was right. I should never have expected a wounded puppy to lick my wounds.