The Aftermath
803 Words
Family Dinner – One Week Later
The smell of fried rice and stew filled the dining room, but Elena could barely eat. The spoon in her hand felt heavy, almost too heavy to lift. Around her, plates clinked softly and chairs scraped against the tiled floor. Her family talked and laughed like everything was normal.
But inside Elena, everything still felt broken.
One week had passed since the night Marcus shattered her heart in that restaurant, yet his words still lived inside her head like ghosts that refused to leave.
At your age, you should be thinking about keeping a man.
The sentence replayed over and over again every time she tried to sleep. Every time she looked in the mirror. Every time she walked past couples holding hands on the street.
Her mother pushed the bowl of rice closer to her with a small frown.
“You're not getting any younger, Elena,” she said casually, like she was talking about the weather.
Elena forced herself to look up.
Her mother continued, “Your cousin Lydia just had her second child last month. Fine little boy too.” She smiled proudly before shaking her head. “Meanwhile, you are still busy working overtime for promotion after promotion like that office will somehow keep you warm in bed at night.”
The words settled heavily on Elena’s chest.
She lowered her eyes quickly before anyone could notice the pain sitting behind them.
The room suddenly felt too hot.
Too small.
Too loud.
She picked at the food on her plate slowly, even though her stomach had already closed itself up days ago.
Her older sister cleared her throat softly, trying to sound gentle.
“We just worry about you, baby,” she said carefully. “The truth is… good men don’t stay single forever. The best women usually get picked early.” She paused before adding quietly, “Maybe next time, try being softer with a man. Maybe not so focused on work all the time.”
Elena felt something c***k quietly inside her again.
She wanted to scream.
Wanted to ask them why nobody ever blamed the men.
Why women always had to bend until they broke just to be loved.
But instead, she smiled.
The same polite smile she had been wearing for years.
A smile that hid pain so well people mistook it for strength.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Her voice sounded calm.
Too calm.
Like somebody who had practiced swallowing pain for a very long time.
Her mother nodded in satisfaction and continued eating like the conversation was finished.
But for Elena, it was not finished.
Not even close.
Because every word felt like another reminder that maybe Marcus had been right.
Maybe she was too old.
Too difficult.
Too focused on her career.
Too broken to be loved properly.
The laughter around the table faded slowly into background noise. Elena stared down at her untouched food while shame wrapped itself around her chest like a tight rope pulling tighter and tighter.
She suddenly could not breathe properly anymore.
“I’m tired,” she whispered after a while, standing from the table before anyone could stop her. “I think I’ll sleep early tonight.”
Nobody noticed the tears burning behind her eyes as she walked away.
The moment she entered her apartment later that night, the fake smile disappeared from her face completely.
The silence inside the room greeted her like an old friend.
Cold.
Lonely.
Merciless.
She dropped her handbag on the couch and stood still for a long moment, staring blankly at nothing.
Then slowly, she walked into the bathroom.
The shower water poured over her skin, warm at first, almost comforting.
But the moment her back touched the wall, the tears came.
Not loud cries.
Not dramatic screams.
Just quiet, painful sobs that shook her entire body.
The kind of crying that comes from a heart that has been carrying too much pain for too long.
She covered her mouth with her hand to stop herself from making noise, but it did nothing to stop the ache tearing through her chest.
Tears mixed with the water running down her face.
Marcus’s voice echoed inside her head again and again.
Women your age become desperate.
Elena slid slowly down the shower wall until she was sitting on the floor with her knees pulled tightly to her chest.
The water kept falling over her like rain pouring over something already destroyed.
Minutes passed.
Then hours.
She did not know.
All she knew was that the water eventually turned cold, but she still could not stop crying.
And somewhere deep inside her, a small painful part of her had started believing maybe she truly was too broken for love.
- Writer
