Broken Strings

C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - T W O

She couldn't run away from it any longer. Especially not, especially since the end was so close. 

"I..I'm sorry." She coughed, mumbling as her throat felt heavy, the words strained.

She gripped onto Andrew's hand, holding on tightly. It was almost as though she was begging him to not let go of her. To hold her, just a little bit longer.

"Anisha. I...I." Andrew shook his head. Still unaware of what to say next. Everything, the words and his emotions, jumbled together as he stared at her frail body. He just couldn't stop looking at her.

In a way, he wished it was a dream. Begging, he was praying it was all a nightmare he could just wake up from. That the last fourteen years were nothing but a nightmare.

He cleared his throat, rubbing his heavy eyes. His voice, too, was barely above a whisper.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Andrew loosened his grip, yet still refusing to let go. 

Months. She had known for months and hadn't told him. 

"Would you have cared?"

The way Anisha barely said the question, softly as she looked at him, pierced his heart.

Truthfully, he didn't even know the answer.

"I'm your husband, Anisha. I had every right to now."

He didn't say anything as Anisha pulled her hand out of his grasp, letting out a dry laugh instead. A faint, dry laugh filled the pathetic sorrow she'd carried around for years.

"Don't act like you care. We both know you don't." Anisha looked up at the hospital ceiling, staring, wondering just how much she even had left. "Trust me, Andrew. You stopped being my husband years ago. There's absolutely no reason for you to pretend like you care."

Anisha turned her head to face Andrew, a faint smile gracing her lips.

And just for a second, as she stared at him, he looked just like the nervous nineteen-year-old boy who had stood outside her door, stuttering about wanting to ask her on a date.

But she was being foolish again. They were far past that. 

"Do you want to hear a story?" She bit her lip, shyly and continued before he could say anything.

He didn't care, that she knew. And he probably couldn't be bothered with her stupid story.

Yet she told it anyway.

"Once upon a time." She let out a small laugh before continuing. She was laughing at her naivety, her fucking foolishness. It was how all fairytales were supposed to start off. But not all ended that way.

"Once upon a time, there was a little girl."

Anisha turned a little, moving around so she was comfortable.

"The little girl was obsessed with princesses. With princess gowns and tiaras, fairy wands and sparkly castles. Every night, she'd ask her mother to read her a story about a princess and her prince charming. And before she'd go to sleep, her mother would tell the little girl that her prince charming would be way better than the one in that book."

Anisha smiled softly, staring off into space. Her eyes welled with tears but she wasn't crying. She was just staring off into space, staring as every little memory of when she'd been young flashed before her.

Like the pink floral dress she'd always wear, the one that made her feel like a princess. Or when her mother would put her hair in two pigtails and she'd run around the house, pretending to be on a secret spy mission as her mother cooked. And the purple tea set that she would always play with, her father promising to attend her 3 pm tea parties.