Senzo



I look at the woman I vowed to spend my life with, now looking at her, she appears unrecognisable, a mere shadow of her former self. I shake my head in disbelief, clutching the ashtray filled with remnants of her self-destructive habits.

Who would have thought that within just seven months of marriage, I would witness my wife spiraling into the depths of alcoholism? Where did I go wrong? She possesses everything one could desire—a lavish mansion, the freedom to indulge herself with my hard-earned millions—yet she chooses to sabotage her own life. Instead of basking in the luxuries life has found herself upon, instead she drowns her sorrows like a mindless fool.

I dispose the empty wine bottle in the trash and proceed to wash the abandoned wine glass, carelessly abandoned on the carpet. A heavy sigh escapes my lips. I open the microwave, finding it devoid of any prepared meals—another day without food. Resigning myself to the situation, I prepare a sandwich and grab a beer before retreating back to my office, I sat into the darkness that mirrors my heart.

In the past months, we’ve become estranged, barely touching each other, as if my very presence repels her. I push the plate away, overcome by a sense of defeat. Where did I go wrong? I believed she wanted to be by my side forever, that her love for me was unwavering. Yet now, she feels like a stranger, drifting further from me with each passing day.

I allowed myself to love, to leave behind a life of crime, to go legitimate for her sake. And this is what I receive in return? How did we reach this point of desolation?

The nagging thought of her involvement with someone else creeps into my mind, but she rarely leaves the confines of our home. It couldn’t be another person tarnishing our lives, could it? Or perhaps, the fault lies with me? I shake off the thought, refusing to believe it. How could it be me? I’ve poured my heart into loving her, demonstrating my affection each and every day. No, it can’t be me or my love that’s to blame.