Things were tough for some time. I got a job and studied at the same time while she freelanced at a local newspaper for extra cash. We got a tiny flat near to where I lived, so I could continue to check in on my grandma from time to time.

As the years went on, Sarah and I continued to try and be close with her family again. But because of her dad forbidding her from ever entering the home again, it was really difficult for her to even see her siblings at times.

When her dad called her on that fateful day of the accident, he was telling her about her mom having passed on after a heart attack. She was also distraught that he had told her that he didn’t want to see her at the funeral and would call the police if she showed up, stating that she was trespassing on his property.

She was filled with pain and grief, both at her mother’s death and at the cruel words of her father. And so she ran into the busy street and the tragedy occurred.

It has now been three weeks that she’s been hospitalised and the bills are adding up. I don’t know how long they’ll be able to keep her on life support. Even now as I stare at her beautiful face, I look for a sign, something, anything, to show me what I should do. I won’t kill my wife, that’s for sure.

Just as I was about to doze off, a familiar face entered the ward, it was Mr Sullivan, Sarah’s father, looking sullen and lost.

Suddenly I couldn’t control myself. It was his fault she was in this state, his fault she hated herself every day, that her bonds with her siblings were broken. I flung myself at him, punching him on the nose. As he pushed back, I suddenly landed on one of the wires keeping my wife alive. The familiar, sickeningly steady ‘beep beep beep’ suddenly went still. We both looked at each other, her father and I.

What had our hatred done to this young beauty of mine, ours?

As we called for the nurse, her eyes opened slightly and her hand twitched. She was coming out of the coma. She then smiled at both of us before closing them again, forever…

I had killed my wife.

After doing a thorough autopsy to make sure she didn’t die from foul play, the pathologist informed me that Sarah was three weeks pregnant. Upon hearing these words, I simply broke down. I had killed my wife and my unborn child.

My life seemed so pointless.

One day, on a cold August afternoon, I went to visit Sarah’s family. I apologised to them for taking their daughter and sister away, both emotionally and physically. And I told her dad that I wished I’d tried harder to win his affection, instead of running off and marrying his daughter, without getting his blessings.

That very same day, I went to my grandmother and gave her what was left of my salary and the keys to Sarah and my apartment.

“What’s going on son? Are you OK?” the frail woman asked, concerned.

“Yes, not to worry grandma.” I said, bending down to kiss her forehead.

Soon it would all be over.

***

Tell us what you think: Why do you think parents get so hard on their kids when they don’t listen to their advice?