All I ever wanted, was your love.
But of course, you didn't love me.
You chose her, of all people, you chose her.
That deceiving princess of lies and hurt. She'll never love you like I can. Not now. Not never.
I was your best friend, your partner in crime, your ally.
When you were down, I cheered you up. When you were sick, I took care of you. When things got tough, I helped you threw them.
What I got in return, was "I love her!", "I'm going to ask her to marry me!", We're expecting!", "Will you be a bridesmaid for her?", "Will you be our daughters god-mother?".
I, of course, moved on.
I met someone, and a year later than you, we married.
I had my little boy a year before your daughter.
It hurt seeing you two together, so I left. It made me ill for weeks.
Leaving home.
Leaving you.
My husband took great care of me though, and my heart slowly mended.
When I returned for Christmas one year though, I crossed paths with you again.
I was visiting your parents, because they were so much like my own, and it seemed your whole family was around, you included.
I chatted with your mother first, she still looked thirty years at most.
Next was your father, looking like an older brother more than a father of four.
Your brother rescued me from countless questions about my son.
Your sister surfaced from her mood of teenagerism- as one of your brother called it- and smiled properly for the first time in days.
Your eldest brother helped me to my return to the real world after nearly ten rounds of video games with the sixteen year old, and tortured me with tickles, as if I was a child again.
The six of us sat down and had your mother's famous chicken curry.
It was a laugh, sharing jokes and crazy stories.
It was interrupted by the door bell, and we all continued while your mother answered it.
You came first giving us a tired smile. We all stood and smiled back, greeting you and giving you hugs.
She walked in, and nobody dared breath from the glare she gave me as I hugged you.
I smiled confidently back at her as you held onto me and buried your head in my neck. I tightened my grip and kissed your neck.
The reaction she gave, I still split my sides when I think of it now.
Her right eye bulged, her left eyebrow twitched, she bit her tongue till it bled.
I fell to my knees laughing, still in your embrace, my arms around your waist.
That's when it happened.
She'd had enough.
She grabbed the nearest item, your mother's favourite vase, and threw it at us.
You weren't hurt, thank God.
But your family's hearts broke. That vase was everyone's favourite. The one you, your siblings and I made for your parents' anniversary when we were kids.
I stood up straight- I was leaning over your crouched body to protect you from the glass- and and hugged your mother, who was desperately trying to piece together the vase.
I glared at her over my shoulder and shouted all the words I could muster.
She turned slightly pale at my change of attitude and everyone-including you- began to stare at me.
I used every bad word under the sun that I had kept in my head from the moment you began to love her and unleashed my years worth of fury at your wife.
But I soon stopped.
I took deep breaths as your daughter, aged two walked in, scowling with her mother's face.
You glared at me.
I stood up, brushed myself off and said goodbye, knowing I had now become the villain in your eyes.
Before I reached the door, my knees gave out.
The room started spinning.
I turned around and saw you all, looking at me horror filled eyes.
You and your eldest brother talked, shouted at me.
But I couldn't hear a word.
Your sister ran towards me and shook me.
My body felt like lead.
I fell forwards and nearly knocked her over.
The last thing I remember was trying to call you.
The world went black.
I opened my eyes days later, in many ways.
I had tried to sit up, but pains shot through my back when I did.
Instead I rolled my head around and saw my son asleep on your lap.
I smiled softly.
You were asleep too.
He needed someone to look up to as a father figure now.
His father and I had a fight, which soon led to divorce. I gained custody of him seeing as his father had become an alcoholic and hated him because he looked exactly like me.
No matter how much I hated to admit it, I prayed the same thing didn't happen to you.
I hated her.
I hated your daughter as well.
She became a snobby little girl like her mother- who always had an attitude when your back was turned.
When she was three, I remember clearly, she demanded a pony and a jewelled necklace.
I laughed at her and looked at you.
You, who had fallen for a girl with a similar attitude years before, died on the spot.
I could hear the worry and anger in that laugh. I could see the rage in your eyes once you opened them.
Your mother did too. So did your father, baby sister and older brothers.
They were worried sick and asked me if you were ok.
I told them you were fine and they seemed happy and relieved to hear that, but I felt guilty. So guilty.
The first time I ever lied to your parents, and it made me feel sick inside.
Because I knew.
I knew you had finally realised what an awful decision you had made.
So I, feeling it was my job, confronted you. You caved.
You cried for the first time in years.
We sat there, on the couch in your living room.
You cried your eyes out, head buried into my neck as usual, arms wrapped tightly around my ribs, hands digging into my back.
I rocked you gently back and forth, stroking your head and whispering soft words to you.
I told you about the love that everyone had for you.
Your parents, your siblings, my parents, my siblings, the whole neighbourhood really.
That's when I decided. No more hiding behind excuses.
I whispered the three words I kept for you and Jason.
No one else.
Because no one else needed them.
You tensed up immediately.
I kept rocking you, stroking your head and kissed your forehead as well as you pulled away.
I smiled at your shocked face and stood. When I'd said my goodbye, I left, leaving the love of my life stunned on your couch.
I drove straight to my parents' house and collected my son.
We left for the airport.
We left for New York.
We left you and our past behind.
I remember laughing and thinking,
'Until the next time, my love. And this time, you'll hate me more than before.'
We lived in isolation.
We created a new life.
One where we didn't contact anyone we once associated with.
One where we made new lives.
One where we made new friends.
One where we lived contently, with nothing holding us back.
It lasted eight short years.
Until my son grew to a fine thirteen year old boy.
Until I began to wear down.
Until I felt we needed to go back, because if we didn't, they'd find us, and hate us more.
We both partially wanted for that, but we knew about my situation.
So we decided to return, though we were both absolutely terrified of my parents.
I'd long forced myself to forget about you. You made it to hard to stay away, and I needed to think of my son, and him only, seeing as you hate me now.
It was late Christmas Eve.
We arrived at the door, and knocked.
Our hearts were thumping.
I heard voices on the other side of the door.
My son held my hand as it was opened.
There stood my father, shocked.
He said my name.
He repeated it, getting louder every time. He beamed and hugged me.
Footsteps thumped against the floorboards as my mother and brothers raced to the door.
My mother cried.
My brothers began to as well.
My father rejoiced.
I giggled when my son cleared his throat, seeking attention.
They all gave him a once over, mouths agape, before they all burst to tears, clinging to us both.
They ushered us in towards the fire.
The gave us tea and cookies, and interrogated us.
We began sharing stories and laughs along with them all.
I remember though, the exact moment it was ruined.
There was a knock on the door. I was in the kitchen at the time it rang so I got it.
You stood there, staring at me.
I recovered first and smiled at you.
I held in the eight years of pain and the additional amount, when I saw a woman standing beside you.
You killed me a billion times over in half a second.
My heart ached in my chest.
I invited you both in and led you both to the lounge.
I offered you both drinks, and introduced myself to your companion.
She seemed nice.
You kept quiet the whole time.
When I left for the kitchen, you shortly followed.
You cornered me.
You demanded all sorts of unreasonable things.
You demanded me to leave this neighbourhood.
To leave my family.
To leave my son.
To leave you.
To leave everything I loved and disappear off the face of the earth.
I smiled sadly at you.
It hurts to remember my last words to you.
"As you wish, my love. You'll never see me again. You'll never hear from or of me again. If it's your wish, even if it kills me, I'll do it. For as long as I love you."
So I gave the shocked shell of you in froth of me a soft push, went to the hall, put on my jacket, grabbed my handbag and left my past and my love.
Never to return.
Even to this day, ten years later, it kills me to remember you.
I've tried forgetting.
I've tried loving.
I've tried dying.
I've tried hating.
I've tried everything.
Except one.
I've never tried returning.
So today, my birthday, I'm in a cab from the airport to break my promise.
To rid myself of my love for you, once and for all.
To evolve from my doll like state, to love again.
To rise from the depths of hell I visited for ten years, and be able to visit heaven even if only for a few months.
Here I stand on the doorstep, forty-eight years of age, finally returning home properly for the first time in eighteen years and for the last four months of my life.
I take a deep breath and knock.
There are voices.
There are footsteps.
The door opens.
My eighty-four year old father stands there, in absolute shell shock by my sudden appearance, once again.
Tears start streaming down my face.
He gives me a toothy grin and tears brim over his eyes.
"Welcome home, my beautiful girl."