The Janitor's Requiem

The Weight Of Rejection

The nighttime air smelt like rain, and the clouds above seemed ready to burst at any moment. Thomas trudged up the steep hill to his in-laws' estate, his shoulders hunched under an invisible burden. The grandeur of the enormous house that loomed ahead was revealed by the calming glow of lanterns. He had never belonged in that kind of household, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise.

Even though his feet ached from the work he had done that day, he was not allowed to unwind. The last bus had left long before his shift ended, and as he had no car, he was forced to walk. By the time he reached the gates, the sweat trickled down his back and poured into the fabric of his already damp shirt.

The sound of laughter from the open windows mingled with the subtle melody of classical music. Thomas stopped at the gate, his hand on the bars of the wrought iron. He could see the silhouettes of people inside, their bodies framed by the chandelier's light.

He swallowed hard, then pushed the gate open, causing the hinges to squeak slightly. Every step seemed heavier on the cobblestone road. When he reached the front door, he paused and used his pants to wipe his hands in order to relax.

The conversation in the living room was animated. His wife, Caroline, stood peacefully and beautifully beside the fireplace. Her lips, which highlighted her sharp features, were painted the same shade as the fabric of her sleek, red outfit. She didn't even glance at him when he entered, since she was so preoccupied with the people gathered around her.

Caroline said, "...and the venue will have gold accents, of course," in a playful manner, as if she were discussing a trivial topic. "It is necessary for the theme."

Thomas stopped at the threshold, his chest constricted with confusion. Getting married? The remarks seemed odd and unsuitable, as if he had joined a conversation that was meant for someone else.

He cleared his throat softly, but Caroline did not answer.

"Caroline," he went on, his voice low and collected, "what's going on?"

For the first time she looked at him, her eyes cold and distant. A little, sardonic smile came to her lips. "Oh, Thomas. Have you lost your reading skills?

She gave him a verbal smack. Before he could respond, she gestured towards the table in the corner of the room. A stack of papers, neatly piled, looked small yet ominous on top of it.

Caroline said, her voice as clear as the paper's edges, "I sent them yesterday." "The decree of divorce". Now I only need your signature.

Thomas's heart broke. His head was cloudy with disbelief as he studied the documents. "Divorce?" he managed to say. In a barely audible tone, "Caroline, why—"

The sound of heels clicking on the floor filled the room before he could finish speaking. Caroline's mother, Elaine, arrived holding a familiar package in her clean hands. She had a disdainful expression on her face, while being just as elegant as her daughter.

"Are you still present?" "What?" Elaine questioned in a condescending tone. She marched up to him and shoved the envelope into his hands. Please sign the paperwork, Thomas. Please don't put us through the turmoil.

Thomas stared at her, then at the envelope, her words weighing hard on him. He remarked in a broken voice, "I just... I don't understand."

Elaine laughed, but her laugh was icy. What is there to understand? You have been a burden to this family ever since Caroline brought you here. A disadvantage. A mistake.

Every syllable had the feel of a blade. Thomas's jaw tensed, but he made himself maintain his composure. He turned to face Caroline and said, "I thought we were building something together." "I believed we—"

Caroline, her face unconcerned, held out a hand to halt him. "Thomas, it's not personal. It's business. You are of no use to this family. You aren’t.

With the exception of the fireplace crackling, the room became quiet. She was gone, but Thomas's eyes scanned hers for any sign of the lady he had once loved. Someone he hardly recognized, someone who saw him as only a barrier, took her place.

"And him?" Despite his internal anguish, Thomas asked in a firm voice. "The man you're getting married to." What is it about him that I lack?

Caroline raised an eyebrow, as if the response was self-evident. "Perhaps," she answered plainly. "He has the capacity to do well. He will support my family's company. Something you would never be able to accomplish.

Elaine took attention to herself by clapping her hands together. "This is enough," she snapped. After signing the documents, go. Don't make things more difficult than they have to be.

With trembling hands, Thomas opened the envelope and looked at the carefully penned words. Every statement was a sharp reminder of his shortcomings in their eyes, and it felt like a kick to the belly.

As he wrote his name at the bottom of the page, the pen felt strange in his hands. After finishing, he turned to face the door and put the papers back on the table.

As he left, Elaine mumbled to herself, "Good riddance."

With his hand on the doorframe, Thomas hesitated. He wanted to defend himself and let them know that he was more than just a specter. However, the words refused to come. Rather, he walked outside and let the chilly night air caress him.

It seemed like it took longer than ever to return to the entrance. Memories flashed through his mind: of late hours spent striving to support others, of times he believed to be loving, of pledges that now seemed false.

He felt numb by the time he got to the street. His thoughts were a tornado of remorse and desire, while his feet carried him aimlessly. He wished that he had been more, that he had contributed more. She may not have glanced at another guy if that were the case.

When he got to the city's outskirts, the first drops of rain blended with the tears he neglected to clean away. He stopped beneath a flickering streetlight, trying to clear his breath in the chilly air.

Somewhere in the distance, an old woman in her sixties emerged. Thomas could see her traveling on that desolate road towards him. By that late night, what could she be doing all by herself on this lonely road? He meditated. Good evening, ma, he exclaimed loudly, with his sad eyes mingled with rain droplets falling down his cheeks. Ma's okay?

He heard her shout his name, "Thomas Ward?" in a calm, resolute voice as he got nearer her.

Thomas looked, the rain soaking through his clothing. His heart pumped, but he said nothing.

"I've been searching for you," the individual remarked and came forward. "We must speak."

And Thomas sensed a spark of something he hadn't felt in years when the stranger's face was lighted by the lamppost around the corner. A gleam of optimism. Or something considerably more deadly, maybe.