The mother of wasted talents

Every morning he would leave (I don’t know where he went) and every night he would come back and find me sitting in the same corner he left me. He trusted me not to go anywhere. Who was I kidding; I was predictable. I worshipped him and he used that to break me time and again. Some days he would fill me up with negative thoughts, and some days he would confuse what he thought he told me with what he never did. I was loyal, but I was not stupid; I knew I was wrong to not ask where he got those wasted talents he introduced to our children recently.

I wasn’t their mother but they were forced on me; I wasn’t willing to take them in but it was the right thing to do, but again, I also wanted the truth from this dishonest entity who made me believe there was nobody for him besides me. I had to ask who the other person was, who this mother of wasted talents was. It was my turn to hear at least one truth from him, no matter how much it would hurt.

To my surprise, he was quick to tell me who she was; he told me she was nothing like me and I could never be like her. She was free and knew what she wanted. She had found solace in him when she thought she was undeserving for new things to come; he stayed with her from the moment he stepped through my door to when he came back in. He was sure he had found a new home and was sure to leave me if she had taken him in forever.

“This woman is the love of my life. She knows what it means to be rewarded, has touched gold, and she owns diamonds and wears genuine pearls. She is nothing like you and you can never be like her. She has danced to the rhythm of success, has reached her target before, plants hope on the window panes of her room, and her room has the scent of life and not death. On her walls are paintings of flowers; she has live ones too that she grow in her room on the corner where she usually sits. This woman is everything I have ever wanted, but as soon as she discovered her other talents, she left me trapped in that room, and those wasted talents were the only thing I have to remember her by. I came back to you in the end, be happy about it,” he said.

I can’t say I was envious of this woman just because my husband had chosen her; I was envious of her because, even after she had hit rock bottom, she found herself again. I was left in this room all day and I couldn’t risk what she did. It did not matter how many hours I was being held captive by the same entity, what mattered was who had made it out. This woman who was at one point my rival had become my stepping stone, and as I was about to gather her wasted talents and mine, I got a visitor who would change my life forever.

Tell us: Who do you think the visitor is?