A twist of hatred

Lingering longings😔

Beauty

I watched in silence as First love, his mother, ordered him to divorce me. The room felt heavy with tension, and my heart ached with a complex mix of emotions. I hated him for the pain he had inflicted upon me, for the turmoil he had brought into my life, but at the same time, I couldn't find it in myself to truly hate him.

It was as if this whole ordeal, this agonizing moment, was all because of me. It was a consequence of the terrible things he had done, both to me and to his own life. I couldn't help but feel responsible for the path he had chosen, even though I had been the victim in this situation.

The conflict within me raged on as I watched his face contort with anguish and regret. I had endured my fair share of suffering because of him, and yet, when I saw him in pain, I couldn't help but hate how I still cared, how I couldn't completely let go.

I forced myself to believe that this was simply payback time, a reckoning for all the hurt he had caused. It was a way to justify my own conflicted emotions, to convince myself that I had every right to stand my ground and demand justice for the pain I had endured.

But deep down, I knew that this was a painful chapter in both of our lives, one that we would have to confront and navigate together or apart. As the seconds ticked by and the weight of First love's decision hung in the air, I couldn't help but wonder if there was a way for both of us to find healing and redemption, or if we were destined to remain entangled in this web of regret and sorrow.

After First love was discharged from the hospital, we returned home, but there was no sign of Handsome, nor was there any trace of the divorce letter. The heavy silence in the house hung like a storm cloud, and I could sense the tension between First love and her son.

First love took matters into her own hands and called Handsome but his phone was unreachable,she called over and over again but the result was the same. She thought he was playing some game with her so she called Sameer her voice laced with a stern resolve. She told him to tell Handsome that if he didn't bring the divorce letter, she would disown him. It was a harsh ultimatum, one that left me torn between the relief of escaping a toxic marriage and the fear of the unknown.

As I sat alone in our home, my thoughts drifted to the idea of the divorce letter. At first, it had seemed like the path to my freedom, a way to escape the pain and turmoil that had plagued our marriage from the start. But now, with the weight of the situation bearing down on me, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about the possibility of leaving. I knew I wanted freedom, I longed for it, but something had shifted within me. The love that had once been buried beneath the hurt and resentment had resurfaced, and I found myself questioning if I really needed to leave.

The marriage had been toxic, yes, but it had also been filled with moments of love and happiness. I couldn't deny the bond that had once held us together, and the idea of severing it felt like tearing a piece of my heart away.

As the hours passed and I waited for Handsome to return with the divorce letter, I couldn't help but wonder if there was a chance for us to heal, to rebuild what had been broken. I knew that whatever happened next would shape the course of our lives, and I was torn between the desire for freedom and the flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, we could find a way to make our marriage work.

The long-awaited divorce letter finally arrived, a crumpled piece of paper that held both liberation and heartache. As I held it in my hands, the weight of its significance pressed upon me, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions.

First love, ever the composed matriarch, offered her words of comfort. "He has finally freed you, dear. It's your time to heal," she told me with a gentle smile. Her words were meant to be reassuring, but I couldn't bring myself to share in her optimism.