C1 Colleen

Colleen

"Hubby, can you lend me some money?" I asked my husband, Jared, my voice filled with uncertainty. His gaze bore into me with a mixture of anger and frustration.

"Why would I give you money? Do you think just because I agreed to marry you, I will give you what you want just like that?" he retorted, his words laced with resentment.

That moment had taken place two years ago, not long after we had gotten married. At that time, I was battling a severe illness, and my doctor had just delivered the news that a compatible heart was available for me. The prospect of extending my life through surgery had filled me with hope, but there was a significant hurdle: the cost. So, I turned to my husband, desperately seeking his support. However, he met my plea with stubborn silence, his resentment unabated.

I understood his anger all too well. Our marriage had been orchestrated by his mother and sister, leaving him with no choice but to marry me against his will. He didn't love me; he loved someone else—Stacey, the woman he had been with for four years and had envisioned marrying before I disrupted their plans.

Jared had been clear about his feelings. He professed his love for Stacey and insisted that nothing I did could change that. I couldn't help but hope that they had parted ways after our marriage, although I didn't delve into their relationship. My hope wasn't born out of selfishness but rather a desire for my husband not to be emotionally entangled with someone else. After all, who would want their spouse to be involved with another person? I imagined no one would.

For the time being, I was relieved that Stacey hadn't come knocking on our door claiming to be pregnant with Jared's child. I shuddered to think about how I would react if that ever happened. While I didn't love him, I still respected the sanctity of our marriage, and I hoped he did too. Though, deep down, I knew he didn't, as long as he kept his relationship with Stacey discreet, hidden from everyone but the two of them, I was content to look the other way.

I couldn't help but wonder why I had acceded to my mother and sister-in-law's insistence on this marriage. They had been incredibly kind to me, showering me with affection. Yet, the marriage had brought me nothing tangible. Well, almost nothing. I had gained a family of sorts—a far-from-conventional one. Still, I cherished my mother and sister-in-law, whom I had come to regard as my own. They loved me deeply, as if I were their biological daughter and sister. Their care for me was palpable, and I knew that if Jared ever wronged me, they would be unforgiving.

My own family had been fractured long ago. My parents divorced when I was eight, embroiled in bitter fights over money, or rather, the lack thereof. I had grown to resent money, regardless of how shiny or enticing it appeared. The divorce didn't materialize until I was sixteen, marking the end of their tumultuous relationship.

Both my mother and father had embarked on new families, seemingly content with their newfound happiness. You might think I'd be happy too, free from their constant bickering. Initially, I was. However, their newfound bliss came at a cost—they both seemed to forget about me, leaving me in the lurch. I couldn't fathom anyone being pleased about such a fate.

My mother declared that she didn't want me in her new family because I reminded her of my father's irresponsibility, while my father harbored a similar sentiment. He wanted nothing to do with me because I brought to mind my mother's alleged greediness. I was particularly disheartened by my father's rejection because, as a child, I had been a daddy's girl, seeking solace in him.

As a result, I lived alone, fending for myself for eight years. During that time, I managed to carve out a modest existence. I never asked for anything beyond having a roof over my head and consistent meals on my table. I worked while I pursued my studies, grateful that, despite the corruption plaguing our government, I was afforded a free college education. I dedicated myself to my studies, aiming to secure a future for myself in this harsh world.

My path to a college degree was longer than most, but I felt a deep sense of accomplishment. Balancing work and studies had not been easy. I steered clear of unnecessary expenditures, limiting my purchases to essentials. Even when I finally secured a job, I remained focused solely on work, paying no heed to any potential suitors vying for my attention.

However, life could be unforgiving. Despite my hard work and self-reliance, a routine check-up due to breathing difficulties plunged me into despair. It was then that I received the harsh revelation that my heart was weakened, demanding utmost caution in everything I did. Dr. Gerard guided and advised me relentlessly to safeguard my health, but it seemed as though the damage was already done.

All those times when I had ignored and brushed aside my shortness of breath had proven to be a grave mistake. Dr. Gerard's diagnosis was stark—I had three years to live unless I underwent the expensive surgery. I was left with no choice but to accept my fate.

I had married Jared for the sake of his mother, whom I had grown to adore—Mommy Claire. She was a loving mother, a stark contrast to my own. She was also unwell, and I yearned to bring her happiness. Thus, I had reluctantly agreed to the marriage.

Now, two years later, Jared's indifference toward me was as palpable as ever. We rarely interacted, despite living under the same roof. He would leave before dawn and return home after I had already retired for the night. Nevertheless, I remained committed to my role as his wife. I diligently prepared everything he needed for work and more. His suits were laid out for him, ready to wear, although he had stopped adhering to my choices after nine months of marriage.

Even though he seldom dined at home, I ensured that there was food waiting for him should hunger strike in the middle of the night or upon his return. I had discovered his untouched plates in the kitchen sink on many occasions. To most, it would seem like a small gesture, hardly worth mentioning, but to me, it was significant.

If, after two decades, Jared came to accept me, I would cherish it. I was content with our situation, harboring no desire for him to love me. Such a sentiment would only inflict pain on him, especially if I were to leave him after a brief period. I was content to love him alone, to motivate myself to hold on for one more year.

I considered myself fortunate to possess the capacity to love someone, having yearned for that emotional connection since my faith in my parents had been shattered. For years, I had been solely concerned with my own well-being. Yet, now, I felt truly alive, despite the emotional pain Jared's detachment caused me.

I wanted to believe that he could change, but I refrained from entertaining such thoughts. I didn't wish to hurt him in the end. So, I had come to terms with my reality—I loved him while he loved someone else. At least, when I was no longer here, he would find happiness with Stacey, the woman he yearned for and loved.