I looked down at Juliet lying in my lap. Her quiet form was beyond angelic. It was a little early for her to be sleeping, but I just couldn’t bring myself to move her. My little angel, she had such a hard day. Not only was she sick earlier today, but her father walked out on us.
My husband just left. He packed his clothing and left. There was no preamble. There was no warning. He just walked out a hardened look on his face. Our marriage was strained at best. The conversations we carried rarely lasting more than a few brief moments, but the one thing we could agree on was our daughter. Juliet was the light of our lives.
I sat on the couch reminiscing about our dying marriage, while gently stroking her baby fine hair. I looked down at her. Her hair was the color of mahogany. The same color as her fathers. A tear escaped my eye, gently landing on her face. All the while thinking more and more on what I had failed at.
We were fighting all the time, until we finally snapped. The fight was as volatile as it could be without fists flying. I stormed off to my daughter’s room to comfort her crying. Giving her more Benadryl to help with her cough, I held her in my arms. She went to sleep her breathing slowed, and she was out.
Resting her head in my lap I sat there for hours, staring at the wall. How could my husband leave me? We were everything to each other. He will be back; I know this in every fiber of my being. I continued to stroke Juliet’s hair. My husband would be back, I keep repeating this internal mantra. Over and over, for what seemed like hours or days, I continued to repeat this.
This whole fight, everything, was all over him having another mistress. I was getting him back, one way or another. With no regard to anything that anyone would say or do, I would get my husband back, at no expense. He had no choice. I knew he would be back, he was mine. No one else could stake that claim to him, I would never allow it.
My daughter stirred in my lap, and looked up at me with sad eyes.
“He is not coming back, mommy.” Her voice like a thousand angels speaking at once both comforted me and broke my heart. My perfect angel lay her head back down in my lap just as it was before.
The sound of banging on the house door registered to my mind, yet I could not focus on it. Still I continued to stroke my daughter’s hair. The footsteps racing down the hall still were ignored by my mind.
My angel lay still in my lap, the poor thing. The door to the room we were sitting in was busted down, and rushed by a group of men in swat gear. I couldn’t hear the screaming. Juliet’s words were still ringing in my ears.
“He is not coming back, mommy.”
The officers swarmed me. They took my baby from my lap. I know I screamed; I wanted my husband. Where was he? They took the empty bottle of Benadryl off of the night stand. They continued to yell at me, while gently placing my child into a black bag.
My poor baby, she had such a hard day. She was sick, her daddy left us. However, I know she is happy. As often happens with children her age, she was wrong. I know she was wrong. Her daddy does not love his mistress. He is mine.
My sweet angel, she had such a hard day. Tomorrow will be better; I know her daddy will come back. I continue to smile lovingly at her as the man zippers up the black bag she is in. Her daddy will be back. He is mine.
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