She turned away and went inside the kitchen, muttering. Banged a pot on the counter and started chopping up some carrots, her anger still bubbling.
One of these days, he would be the death of her. Chop. A good for nothing burden. Chop. How much longer will I have to suffer?
Tears blurred her vision. She slammed the knife down and tried to regain her composure.
She knew she shouldn’t have but she had lost control. Broken her vow. Only this time, she hadn’t used her hands. She had just thrown a plate at him. It had hit him squarely on the forehead, leaving a welt, and then clanged dully to the floor.
He didn’t say anything or cry out. He just looked at her and his eyes said it all. Her anger burned away her concern though. Yeah, you’re hurt. Pssh. So she had turned away.
Now in the quiet, she heard the door closing.
In two steps, she was at the door. The street was very dark and very empty. Right and left.
The world began spinning. He had left? Her legs felt weak and she tasted bile; she had to lean against the doorpost for support.
And then she heard a rustle behind her.
“Amma…,” he said.
He was right behind her. Right here! Not out on the streets somewhere. Or lost or dead.
The welt and his eyes both shone red.
With tears in her eyes, she rushed towards him, kissed his welt; held him in a death grip so that the smell of his sweat enveloped her.
Never. Never! Oh God, forgive me!
He was a retard but he was her retard.