"The beginning of the end."
"Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down... but why would he fall? Why would he when I am here to catch and pray for him? Forever and ever—or so I thought. And here I am, sitting on the bed in the middle of the night, waiting for him to come home to come to me, show me his love or hit me just showing his attention would be enough, but here I am clearly confused about where life has brought me and where I can go from here, if not toward my downfall to endure his torture just so that I feel I'm his to take his beatings to feel his touch to hear him shout thinking we are talking. "My marriage is clearly failing, but may be today is the day to decide: am I staying or going, from his life to never come back ? will it be easy ?" suddenly the clock becomes the main character with it ticks in a rhythmic monotonous sound filling with the silence of our luxurious bedroom, and the side of the bed that once held warmth and familiarity is cold and untouched. I trace the fabric of our floral sheets, feeling the emptiness that stretches beside me, an absence that has become more present than the man I married. Even at times when he's here, I feel the distance between us that stretches so long that even if our feet touch, we feel nothing. At least I feel nothing. Jack used to hold my hand at night, whisper dreams of never leaving me alone into my ear. Now, his whispers belong to someone—or something—else. Work, friends, distractions. Anything but me.
I inhale deeply and close my eyes, remembering the version of myself that once laughed without hesitation, that once believed in fairy tales and happy endings. What happened to her? When did she become this woman, sitting alone in the dark, questioning whether my love was enough, whether I was enough?
A car’s headlights flash against the wall, and my breath catches. Is it him? The engine hums in the distance before fading. False hope settles like a weight in my chest. He is still not home. He might never come home. And even if he does, will he ever truly return to me?
The air outside carries the crisp scent of pine and cinnamon, signaling the arrival of Christmas, reminding me of home. Twinkling lights flicker outside the window, a stark contrast to the dimness inside my heart. The holidays were once my favorite time of year, filled with warmth, love, and shared traditions. Now, they are a reminder of what has been lost, of the empty space beside me that Jack no longer fills.
I think of my childhood village, Burkley, the small town of Goldenleaf, where Christmas meant carols sung by the fireplace, homemade cookies, and snowflakes dancing in the air. Maybe that’s where I need to be—home, where I can breathe, where I can start fresh. The idea takes root, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the pain.
I pulled my knees to my chest, the blanket wrapped tightly around me, as if it could protect me from the inevitable. My heart knows the answer, but my mind fights against it, clinging to the memories, to the vows, to the remnants of what we once had.
We used to be the couple that others envied. Jack and Jill, the ones who defied the odds, who built something out of nothing. We had dreams, we had plans. We were meant to last. Weren’t we?
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Hope flickers and dies the moment I see the name: Not Jack, but, Lydia.
“Hey,” I answered, my voice hoarse.
“You sound terrible,” she says. “Is he home yet?”
“No.”
A pause. “Jill, this isn’t normal. You know that, right?”
I swallow. I know. But hearing it out loud makes it real. It makes the fragile structure I’ve been clinging to crumble even more. “What if I leave and regret it?”
“What if you stay and regret it even more?” she counters.
I stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know how to be without him.”
Lydia sighs. “You are already without him. He’s just the ghost of someone who used to love you.”
Tears prick in my eyes. “I don’t know how to walk away.”
“Yes, you do. You just have to choose yourself this time.”
Silence stretches between us. My mind screams at me to do something, anything, but my body refuses to move, paralyzed by the fear of the unknown.
I heard Lydia sigh at the other end. “Come stay with me, we all miss you back home. Get some space. Think clearly.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Maybe,” I whispered.
“Jill.” Her voice softens. “You don’t have to keep breaking yourself to keep him whole.”
A single tear escapes down my cheek. “I know.”
“Try to sleep, okay? Call me in the morning.”
I nodded again, murmuring a quiet goodbye before hanging up.
The night stretches on, endless and suffocating. I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. Instead, memories flicker behind my eyelids. The way Jack used to look at me, call me his Jill. The way he used to reach for my hand in a crowded room, as if he needed to know I was still there.
I don’t know when that changed. Maybe it was gradual, like the slow erosion of a shoreline. Or maybe it was all at once, like a house set on fire in the dead of night. Either way, I am left in the ashes, unsure if I should try to rebuild or walk away.
By the time the sun peeks through the blinds, my decision is made. My heart still aches, but there is a new determination beneath the sorrow.
I stand, my legs shaky but resolute, and walk toward the closet. I pull out a suitcase, the sound of the zipper breaking the quiet. I take a deep breath and start packing. Not everything—just enough. Just enough to remind myself that I have a choice. That I have a way out.
Jack may have fallen, but I don’t have to fall with him.
And for the first time in a long time, I realize—I don’t want to.
So, let's begin. Let’s go back to a time when I was happy—a time when I was alone. The silly streets, the muddy roads, and the trash on the outskirts of the buildings were where we truly called home. My town, my village, was small, but I felt whole. I remember the sea, its heat on us, and how close we lived to each other.
I found myself praying, whispering to God, “Whoever is meant for me, bless him first. Let him be whole before he comes to me. For I am hollow—as hollow as one can be—and I need someone who can fill the cup that is only halfway full.”
