A History of Our Love in Five Lies by Rebecca Roland
I want you to be happy.
That’s what everybody says at the beginning, isn’t it? I believed you when you told me, and I said the same to you. And everybody really wants that, don’t they? Of course they do. But when I wanted to apprentice in witchcraft and hone my natural abilities, you brought up the cost and the time away from you, and you had a point. We were nearly broke, and we had a child on the way. You asked me to wait, it wasn’t the right time. Your reasoning sounded so good, and I wanted you to be happy too, so I put that dream on a shelf. Sometimes love is sacrifice and patience.
Our love will last forever.
It says so in the diamond engagement commercials. Diamonds are forever, and so is love. But we got wrapped up in work and the kids, and we drifted gently apart like flotsam on two separate ocean currents. Love never stays the same, and neither do people. Sometimes love must evolve.
When these treatments are over, we’ll go on the honeymoon to Paris that we never had.
But you knew, even in the beginning, that your odds were low. You hid it from me as best as you could. You insisted on going to your appointments alone, wanting me to stay with the kids. I knew your tells by then, though. I knew you were lying, trying to protect me, trying to make me happy in your own way. All those wasted years as we grew apart… I wanted them back. So I began to prepare, to study, to learn what they never would’ve taught in the apprenticeship. I suppose you were right about that; it would’ve been a waste of time and money because what I needed now was something far more powerful. I couldn’t stop Death. He must always have his dues. But sometimes people can come back. Sometimes love can be revived.
It doesn’t hurt at all.
I could see the pain etched in the lines of your face, making them much deeper than they should have been for a man only four decades old. But I nodded as if I believed you, not wanting you to worry, and I held your hand. I was ready for your passing, but more importantly, I was ready to bring you back. I didn’t tell you my plans, though. You were going through so much already, and I didn’t want to burden you with it. I didn’t want you to try talking me out of it. Sometimes love is knowing when to hold back.
It will be the same as it was before.
That’s what you said after you got over the shock of being back. I didn’t know if you were trying to reassure yourself, or me. But you found excuses to leave the room when I entered. You evaded any topic that used to cause us to fight. You went out for longer and longer walks. I caught you sitting and staring off into space with a haunted look, and when I asked what you were thinking about, it was always nothing. On the rare occasion you let me briefly hug you, your heartbeat was always so fast. It could be mistaken for a heart racing from excitement or being close to someone you love, but I knew you were scared of me. I didn’t bring you back from death for you to fear me. All I wanted was to love you longer, but you’re farther from me now than you’ve ever been. One day went you went out for a long walk, I packed my things and left you a note. While it pained me to leave you, at least I know you’re alive and well. And I meant it all those years ago when I told you I want you to be happy, but I didn’t think that would happen until I was gone, because sometimes love is letting go.
