The jilted one

This piece is inspired by all those women who take shit from men, forgive infidelity, accept being the ‘first wife’ and forsake feminism by throwing around statements like ‘I stayed with him while he romanced her because of my kids’. Really? I can’t express my anger to their faces, so I must rant where I can. Here.Β 

I never knew him. Who he was. What he believed. His principles. Heck, I barely know myself. He’s unknown to me she said. He’s the forbidden fruit I plucked, but it poisoned me instead. And he laughed. Actually, he cackled. How considerate of him. He cackled as I wilted away and he never looked back. He let me lay in a pool of my pitiful complacency. And I watched him leave me behind as he embraced his new life and his new love. Love might be a bit of an overreach considered 10 years ago, I was considered the ideal candidate for the same position that was now being replaced by someone who looked eerily like me, only 15 years younger. So if he still loved the appearance of me, was it the soul that bothered him and turned him off?

Its 3 pm. I lived day in and day out, satisfying the ego of a man who was in actuality too weak. Too weak to even hold his own in front of a measly woman. In fact I can safely say that if the day came that a fight would break out between him and a mushroom, the mushroom would beat him with sheer willpower. Because the mushroom stands tall, and holds its ground, literally, whereas this man was swept away by mere whim. So he’s gone. But he hasn’t left me. He’s left me shackled to 3 pieces of himself. Not one, but 3. And pieces that look like replicas of him so every time I look at them, I am reminded of my humiliation and my self-pity. Pitiful is what I am. I know this, yet I have chosen this position as the ‘first wife’. Not the only one, as it was meant to be. As fairytales promise us. But the first of many. And why did I pick this role. Because in the food chain, I don’t rank very high. I am the caregiver, the mother, the one that looks out for the younglings. But also the one who never explored her potential, hence now needs to be taken care off. For a few measly thousand dollars, he gets to own me. My reward: his spawn. And I am supposed to love them. But how can you love those that remind you of a wasted youth and a delusional fantasy of everlasting loyalty. Bullshit. All bullshit.

Its 4 pm. She doesn’t feed him dinner. Never learnt to cook you know. So they go their own ways. He say’s its to spend some ‘quality time with his precious kids’, I say ‘Its to feed that overgrown belly of his with some home-cooked meals’. He must be coming home soon. I won’t cook today. I just won’t do it. What will happen? He won’t be fed? I’m sure she knows how to pick up the phone and order a meal right? Let her do that. That’s right. This is my upper hand. It’s my time to look out for myself.

Its 5 pm. I’m still lying here. I will not move. I will not go into the kitchen. Let him come home and see the house in disarray and the fridge as empty as my heart feels now. I won’t cook. I won’t give in. Theres the car door. His royal highness has decided to make his way back into the place he used to call home until last month. The kids squeal with joy. He’s such a rare commodity. Lap it up kiddos, he might abandon you too. I find myself sitting up now. No no no! My mind fights for emancipation as my hands reach into my cooking gloves. Why am I doing this? Oh hell, its just one meal. Can’t let him see me hurt can I? Must keep the brave face on. In fact, I’ll cook his favorite dish. This way he won’t know at all what I feel, how ripped to pieces my soul feels. Throw in a little dessert too. Nothing is too great an effort to hide my true feelings. In fact you know what? I’ll even greet him with a smile. Act like all is well.

Its 6 pm. He liked it. He actually finished the last piece of dessert. He never does that. Always leaves some behind because he doesn’t want to show his greed. He smiled too. Even stacked his plates on top of the other. How considerate he’s being. I’ll throw him another smile.

Its 7pm. He’s gone.

Shit.

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