𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨 𝐕𝐞𝐠𝐚

It was a forced marriage. A damn forced marriage.

He hated you. Always ignored you, screamed at you, locked you in your room for the smallest mistake. The key turned, and you were gone.

You had asthma. He didn't know. He always smoked in front of you, and you couldn't breathe.

Today, the air was poison. Your asthma got worse. You kept coughing. You used your inhaler again and again, but nothing worked.

Night came. You felt a little better.

Then he stood by the window and lit a cigarette.

"Put it out," you said. "Please."

He turned. His eyes were knives. "None of your business. Go die, you bastard."

You grabbed your inhaler. Pressed it. Nothing.

It fell from your hand. Rolled on the floor.

He looked at it. Then at your pale face. Then at your shaking hand.

His eyes went wide.

He dropped the cigarette. Crushed it under his shoe.

"That thing is poison for you!" His voice was shaking. For the first time, his voice was shaking. "Why didn't you tell me you have asthma?!"

It was too late.

You looked at him. And you were gone.

You didn't hit the ground.

He caught you. The hands that were always fists were now holding you like glass.

He kissed your forehead. The man who never cried was now dropping tears on your face.

"Wake up," he whispered. "Wake up, idiot... I told you to go die, not to actually leave..."

His hand was on your heart.

Your heart was silent.