Shattered (Part 1)

A depiction of a shattered heart, still shattering and cracking.

Shattered 

Part 1 

“Girl, get it in your head, I’m not about to meet your so-called boyfriend,” she told her daughter. She wasn’t yelling but her voice was loud enough that anyone, anywhere in the house could have heard. The voice was stern and determined.  

They were in the kitchen. She was washing the dishes in the sink. The daughter, troubled and anxious, sat at the small dining table behind her. All the while they’d talked, she had not turned to look at her daughter, not even once. She had had enough of this talk. 

She paused, calmed down, still facing the side of the sink, “You're just a girl, what do you know about men?” Her voice was now calmer and quieter. 

“Mom!” Her daughter yelled, standing up, “I’m twenty-three for goodness’ sake, how old do I need to be to know when I love a man?” 

She resumed washing the dishes, her daughter began pacing the kitchen, almost crying, holding her waist, passed her right hand in her hair while the other still held her waist.  

“You’re still a child, you…” 

“Mom,” the daughter interrupted, “you said the same exact things about David,” paused and held her waist with both hands. 

“David?” she asked. 

“Yes, David, my last boyfriend, I broke it off because of you, Mom.” She walked back to the dining table, stopped and rested one hand on it. 

“Oh, that one and now you’ve found another one and you want to marry him?” 

“Yes, Mom,” now she sounded calm and pleading, she moved, hugged her mom from behind, wrapping her arms around her waist, “I love Eddy, please meet him tonight over dinner. We want to get married in the fall. You have to meet him first; you have to—he is exciting.” Her mom didn’t turn around. She continued washing her utensils. 

“Ruth, my girl, you know nothing about men, I’m not meeting your Eddy.” Ruth immediately let go of her mom, stepped back and stared at her. Tears flashed in her eyes. She crossed her arms across her chest, bit her lower lip and lowered her head. 

“One more time, the last time, I hope, I’m not meeting your Eddy,” she paused, turned around, and faced her daughter. “And if you are Ruth, my daughter, then leave that man or boy or whatever; I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She turned around, resumed washing her utensils. 

Ruth remained staring at the floor. Tears fell on her white flip-flops. Everything was quiet, just the splashing water and the utensils in the sink. Then she raised her head.  

“Then I’m not your Ruth, your daughter.” Her mom heard it, paused. Ruth, crying, rushed back to the table, picked up her phone. She sprinted for the exit door and left the house. 

Her mom heard her leave, heard the loud bang of the door when she exited. She did not turn. After a small pause, she resumed washing her utensils. She was conflicted, torn between anger and the imminent fear that she might lose the love of her daughter because of the outburst, because of men. Stupid men. 

She was looking out for the best interests of her daughter, wasn’t she? She was just young and naïve, wasn’t she? What did she know about men and the heartbreaks they cause and the pain that comes with it? She did not want to see her daughter get heartbroken. Then she stopped washing the utensils, let go of the sponge, drew back from the sink. Wiped her hands. 

She paced around the kitchen. She was looking out for her best interests, wasn’t she? She reassured herself. She was. One day Ruth would look back on this moment and understand. She would understand that this is what mothers do for their daughters. They protect their daughters, whatever the cost. Whatever the cost? She began to cry, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

She sat down at the dining table. What does a 23-year-old girl know about men? Sitting there, it all came back to her. The past, vivid and clear, posing as if it were just yesterday. Like nothing had changed since. 

She remembered the phone ringing on that brisk, chilly afternoon, its melody breaking through the monotonous, cacophonous hum of the city outside her window. She was 23, like Ruth, like Ruth now. She was young. She had just graduated from the university. She had just gotten her first job.  

She remembered that morning. Oh, how she never forgets it. It was a Friday. She was excited for the weekend ahead. It had been a busy week. She could use some rest. She had thought to herself. 

She had picked up the phone. She remembers the tingle of excitement she felt. It was Tom, her Tommie, her long-time love. They had known each other for ten years, having met when she was 13 and he was 16. They had started officially dating when he was 18 and she was 15. By that brisk morning, it had been eight years of steamy love.  

His calls always sparked a flutter of butterflies in her stomach as if they had just started dating. With a smile spreading across her face, she answered, her voice brimming with the usual excitement and warmth reserved just for him. 

"I’m coming to town!" Tom exclaimed, his voice crackling with a mix of thrill and secrecy that piqued her interest immediately. Tom worked miles away in another city. They spent weeks, sometimes months without meeting. He was a busy man.  

The details followed in a rush; they would meet at their favorite city hotel, the scene of many past rendezvous, promising another night of shared secrets and laughter. She went into a frenzy. Tom, Tommie was coming over. She went to work that day. But what did she do there? She only daydreamed and wrestled with anxiety; she could not wait for the evening to meet Tom. 

After work, as the hours ticked closer to their meeting, she busied herself with preparations. She booked the hotel room, the same room they always met in whenever Tommie came to town. They had given it a name. She remembered they had invented it one day playfully on a whim, their little world.  

She chose her outfit with care, aiming to mirror the special occasion, her heart swelling and bursting with anticipation. Moments like these took long to happen and when they did, they left her gasping for more, unsatisfied, looking forward to the next meeting. 

For the past year, she had prodded Tom, "What about moving in together? What about settling down and marrying?" They loved each other, didn’t they? She had met his parents once. He had met her parents two or three times. Everyone, anyone close knew them.  

She could leave her current job, move to his city, if it came to it. There was no question as to where they would settle. She would move. Tom had insisted he was not ready but had promised that in a year or so they would definitely marry. "Why wait?" She always insisted. They had each other. The rest, they would figure out. That's what all couples do, not so? 

She was serious about Tom. She had continually brought up the topic. Even when they ended up quarreling and fighting about it. Even when she would promise herself not to bring it up again, she’d bring it up again. That night, she would try again, nudge him a bit. Perhaps this time he was ready. Maybe that was why the visit was abrupt. She kept going back and forth on the same thoughts all day. All day. 

Tom arrived that evening, carrying a tuxedo, a bundle of charm and excitement. He placed the tuxedo down and had casually mentioned that he was attending the wedding of a friend the next day. He was the best man. That was why he had made the abrupt trip.  

The news was quite disappointing. But hey, it was Tommie, he had traveled, he had come. It did little to dampen her spirits; the important thing was that he was here now, with her. Talking about weddings, perhaps it was a chance to discuss theirs. 

They plunged into a night filled with passion, their connection deepening as the city lights flickered below. But, amid the closeness and burning passion, Tommie's phone had been a somewhat persistent intruder, buzzing and purring with calls he would swiftly dismiss. Sometimes he would step out, go to the balcony and talk in hushed tones.  

Each time, he returned with a smile, brushing off any hint of curiosity with a kiss. She trusted him. She was lost in the moment. She would have hated anything to spoil that moment. They never met that much. She immersed herself fully in every instant that chanced them to be together. 

In their hotel room, after a night of passion-filled love, she remembers the morning arriving fast and bright. The sun rays beamed into their room, finding them tangled warmly in sheets. What a morning that started the day! Casting gentle patterns across the room. They shared a shower, the water cascading over them like a cleansing ritual, washing away the remnants of the night before.  

The tuxedo had some folds. She ironed the tuxedo while he prepared, both moving around each other in a comfortable dance they had perfected over time. But she also remembered the endless calls.  

There had been a lot of calls that morning. He had kept running out to answer some of them. Some he quickly dismissed, just like in the night. That morning, she had asked, "Why the many unusual calls?" It was his crazy friends, drunk on the wedding eve. Then he kissed her on the lips. She brushed off any ill feeling. 

Their goodbye was a tender one, filled with reluctant partings and promises to reconnect soon. She remembers Tommie’s dashing looks in the tuxedo. She remembers Tommie walking out of the hotel room, turning one more time to wink at her as he always did every time he walked out of the room they had been in together.  

He was handsome that morning, she allowed herself a daydream of future commitments, one day, soon, she thought. 

She had later on left the hotel room only with memories of last night. She kept laughing, giggling to herself, remembering the whispers, the sighs, the moan-full hums, the soft touches and the kisses. What a night it had been! She thought to herself, one day, one day they will have that every day. Soon.  

She had brought up the subject of moving in together and he had replied that he had been thinking about it and thought the following year they should. The following year! Just months, only months and she wouldn't have to daydream like this. 

The day had progressed. She went back to her house. She spent most of it moonlighting between the sweet daydreams of the previous euphonious night and house chores. 

She chuckled, remembering the phone call she received that day in the evening. She had just settled onto her couch to catch her series. She never used ring tones but that evening, she doesn’t know how, her phone had rung with a ring tone. Something unusual to announce something unusual.  

It had been her best friend, Jenny, calling. Picking up the call, she remembered she had not yet told her about last night. The night with Tommie. How could she have forgotten? 

She never got the opportunity to tell Jenny about the night. It was Jenny who told her about the day. About big things, bad things, happening behind her back. Jenny had received pictures and videos from social media. It was bad. It was Tommie. Tommie’s wedding.  

Tommie had wedded that day. That day after a night of passion together. That day when he left in the morning in a tuxedo, in a tuxedo she had ironed and put in order, he had gone to his wedding. 

She remembers insisting, insisting and insisting, her friend had got it all wrong. She had been with Tommie the previous night. She knew about the wedding. Tommie was only a best man for a friend. Jenny had insisted too. That she knew what she had seen.  

Jenny shared the pictures and the video. There her Tommie was. Tommie pouring out vows. Tommie happy. Tommie smiling. Tommie kissing the bride. 

It had been a small wedding just with a few friends. Not even his close family had been in attendance. They had a child too, a boy. A boy of two. Tommie had had a woman and together they had had a child, a whole two years old and she knew nothing. She had sniffed nothing. 

That phone call shattered her. She looked at the pictures, examined the video. It was not a prank, it was happening, it was real. Tommie had not married her. Tommie had married another woman. How days turn, how time delivers things. What a way! 

As the news settled in, finding a place to haunt in her heart and mind, the previous night transformed from a cherished memory to an enduring bad memory that she would carry forever. Everything stopped that evening and looked still. Looked hopeless. Looked meaningless. Dreams of a future vanished. Food was no longer food. She felt alienated. Alone and torn in the heart. 

Her tears were quiet, her sorrow went deep, found and grew roots, engulfing and shattering her heart. She could almost feel and touch its clattering pieces in her heart. The question of "How could he?" echoed through the room, unanswered. The man she loved had choreographed his deceit with the precision of a dancer, leaving her as nothing more than a forgotten audience to his grand performance. 

She could have died that evening. Jenny had rushed to her house and found her lying on the floor, panic-stricken and running out of breath. Thank God, Jenny had had a spare key to her house. 

Life changed. She did not go back to her job. Six months she was home. Another six months she spent in rehabilitation or she would have killed herself. Two times her life had been brought back after overdosing on sleeping pills. 

But that was not all. She had been found pregnant. That last night with Tom in the hotel, a night of passion, had left a baby conceived in her womb. She had found out three months later. The morning sicknesses had been mistaken for the effects of anxiety and panic she suffered due to heartbreak. 

She had contemplated aborting. How was she going to face this baby? How was she going to take care of it when she felt fragile and broken herself? But something remarkable had happened. Hope. The pregnancy, the news of it, settling in had given her assurance. To live. She loved the idea of having children. She did not see herself love any man ever again. This child was going to be hers. This was the only opportunity she had. The child would be hers, alone. 

Ruth had been born. In her, she found herself. She dedicated all her life to raising her girl and giving her the best. Of all people, it was only Jenny who knew the Dad. To the rest, the girl’s father had passed away just days after she found out she was pregnant. Ruth knew that as well. She had no dad. Her dad had passed on. 

Now it was coming back. She had thought it had happened once and for all. Here she was, all coming back, her life’s most dreaded moment. She sat there at the table, tears drying on her cheeks. She felt herself drowning in fear. Some debris of terror that had been left hanging in the air was finally beginning to fall, falling on her. 

For the first time in more than 20 years, she thought about Tom. Where was he? She immediately rushed out of the thought. 

Time passed. The night came. She called Ruth. Ruth did not pick. She kept trying. Ruth was not picking. The night passed. She did not sleep. She was worried. Morning came. She called Ruth. Ruth did not pick. Where was Ruth? 

EzroniX Short Stories.