I finally checked the train schedule between Mumbai VT and Pune, something I had avoided for 11 years.
For 11 years, I had been stopping myself, fearful it might shatter your carefully preserved image in my mind—the one of a loving husband with a fiery anger; a vice you had no control on; the vice I had forgiven long back.
I had carefully avoided thinking of the day you went from Pune to Mumbai to submit a report. That night your best friend had called me at 7 PM after meeting you at Mumbai VT. You didn’t return that night, nor did you take my calls. You came at noon—no apologies on missed calls. You never asked me if I was alright.
Upon my query, you said, there were no trains. Like a loyal wife, I accepted.
I carefully avoided thinking that the maid was late, stepping in 15 minutes before you did, like always; that you looked too fresh to have spent the past couple of hours in the intercity; that you hair was still wet from the shower.
For 11 years, I had asked myself many times why I had seeked divorce. Every time, I told myself I couldn’t deal with your anger. I’m not sure why I checked the schedule today.
I wish I hadn’t—there were trains at every hour.
