Where did I go wrong? I was driving down a country road with no traffic in sight, lost in a question that offered no answer. There's something about the scenery in my headlights that seemed to have triggered a memory of sorts. I thought that I was driving aimlessly, but before I knew it, I turned into the direction of the rock formations where I went sightseeing with Cynthia before. I left the house without a destination, drawn by memories of her.
I felt so sick with my own sense of self pity. I had just signed, sealed,and mailed my crumpled portion of the divorce papers. The feeling of having to drop off the envelope into the post box clung to me. My grip on the steering wheel tightened, attempting to wash away the thoughts.
Six months had passed since Cynthia's "sudden" departure. I call it "sudden," but the silence in our house had been growing for weeks, a heavy, suffocating weight. In our six years of marriage, we had not been blessed with a child, so we decided to go to the hospital for an examination. That was probably my first mistake.
The doctor's words were a flat pronouncement, devoid of comfort: "The problem seems to be with your wife." He handed us the results. She could conceive, but the chance of getting pregnant was low. At that moment, Cynthia's smile vanished. The always positive, cheerful wife I once knew now only existed in memory.
It was completely my fault for carelessly throwing around comments like, "When we get married, I think that I'd like to have three children," or, "I know for a fact that our children will be extremely adorable."
On the way home from the hospital, I foolishly said, "Having children isn't all there is in a marriage," but all Cynthia could manage, with red, disheartened eyes, were two words: "I'm sorry." That was the beginning of a terrible repetition.
There was no way I could ever say something as horrible as suggesting an infertility treatment. I was confident that would push her further into suffering and mourning. Two weeks later, Cynthia vanished, with only having left a note behind that read, "I'm sorry,
please forget about me," with the divorce papers neatly placed by its side.
Panicking, I tried contacting her but I had no luck whatsoever; all of the messages that I sent her were left unread.
I even tried to get in contact with her family and workplace, but the only responses that I was able to receive were apologies or them being shocked, which only meant I was able to leave with no sense of her whereabouts. Right when I was about to give up, my wife's best friend, Brea, came to mind.
(If she decided to go and stay with someone, it would most likely be with Brea) I thought to myself with a bit of hope left in me. Cynthia, Brea, my best friend Nico and I were very close in college, doing all activities together. Cynthia and Brea were particularly close, having been friends since they were in high school and roommates for all four years of college.
With very little hope, I attempted to reach out to Brea, but unfortunately her number had changed.
(It's fine, I'm sure that Cynthia's with Brea), I reassured myself about her safety and well-being.
I began to feel anxious, unable to confirm it one hundred percent, but if she had a stable, very supportive person like Brea with her, then I could relax. However I later on found out that the assumption was wrong.
Exactly one month after Cynthia left, I received a message from her asking if we could meet up. When I showed up at the location, she was right there waiting for me, but not with Brea. She was with Nico. The both of them couldn't look directly at me; they lowered their faces.
Even after Nico and I graduated from college, we constantly kept in touch, talking about work and many other things. I've always had a habit of worrying excessively, and he'd be there to help me out, and would often help me laugh it off. Even to this day, he has been one of my biggest emotional supporters.
Although after reuniting with my best friend after quite some time, I could tell he wasn't in the mood for any sort of greeting and having talks about the old times.
"Liam, I'm sorry...We're...together now," Cynthia spoke in a defeated voice.
I could still remember her shaky voice, filled with guilt; it seriously hurts to remember that. What she told me struck me with shock, but in reality, my heart began to prepare itself for this to happen ever since we began dating in college. Cynthia always liked Nico, and I was very aware of it. Even so, I began dating Cynthia in such a pathetic way and married her. Maybe I was receiving my punishment for that; it was odd, but that's something I ended up believing then.
Obviously I was angry, sad, and heartbroken, but I didn't yell at either of them, I did spit out some pretty mean words mixed with sarcasm. I ended up feeling guilty afterwards, so I apologized to Cynthia and Nico, telling them that I was the one in the wrong. I felt as if I was giving it up completely; I didn't care about a single thing; it was too much of a bother. I didn't forgive or hold a grudge against them; they should have been together from the very beginning. He's an outgoing, hyper, and positive person, the complete opposite of what I am. He has always spoken his mind to others instead of being a coward and hiding how he truly feels. Them being together is something I wished for back then.
I passed a road sign that showed the distance to a location with a name I did not recognize.
(Where would this random drive lead?) I wondered.
Beginning to feel depressed, I turned on the radio, but at that very moment a song by Cynthia's favorite band began to play. It was an upbeat melody, the lyrics of the song referencing some sort of breakup. The further I drove down this country road, the bleaker my surroundings became. There weren't stores around, houses became more scattered, and the darkness began to deepen. Some time after passing a factory, the drive led to a lonely farm road without a discernible sign.
(Come to think of it, I feel like I've seen this place before), I remembered, then regretted it.
I remember when Cynthia and I would go on "driving dates" on free weekend nights. We would go out without having a specific destination in mind, turning off the car navigation, not looking at maps, just driving without a single idea as to where we were going. The person who suggested this random idea was Cynthia. It honestly made me a bit anxious, getting lost without having an idea how much gas I had left, but Cynthia loved it, saying that she enjoyed the thrill. And when I was with her, these trips became enjoyable for me as well.
Remembering all of that gave me a feeling of peace, but not long after it turned into sadness. I stepped on the gas, hoping it would help shake off my sadness a little. I arrived at an intersection that didn't have a traffic signal, but by the time I noticed a vehicle approaching from my left, it was too late. I misjudged the distance between us and increased my speed, hoping I could avoid something terrible.
"Woah!" I yelled out.
Before I realized it, the other vehicle was practically on top of me. At this distance, there was no way to avoid anything.
(We're going to crash!) I thought, panicking. I slammed on the break so aggressively that my leg cramped up, while turning the steering wheel around aimlessly. The piercing sound of a car horn filled the air, and the other vehicle's headlights were directly in front of me. (No way...) I thought, feeling hopeless.
The incoming vehicle was actually a large truck. I wondered why it would be driving on a farm road but then assumed that it must've been heading towards the factory I passed. At that moment, everything moved as if in slow motion. (If this truck collides with me, there's no way I could be saved.) I told myself. In my last moment, I thought about my wife's smile when we first met.
(Cynthia… Please, live a happy life.) I thought, feeling emotional.
The next moment, a huge impact slammed into my car.