The Dairy of A Weeping Widow 2

Previously on The Diary of a Weeping Widow

The melancholy that hung in the air was so thick you could almost slice it with a knife; ironically this is the exact sober ambiance that reverberated in the entire 22 years with this man. Gazing at his corpse I fought the urge to slam the casket door shut. I leaned closer to his face and whispered, “Rot in hell’’ before kissing his cold forehead. Yes, Taurai was as dead as a dodo. The tears rolled out easily while my long black Versace mermaid gown swept the floor. I walked past my in-laws and felt their scowls boring through me. I hid the smirk on my face by crying into my hands, it had been the longest three days and finally burial day was here. His coffin descended into the grave while Achisundei sang ‘Amazing grace’ and for a minute my chest tightened in bereavement. The crocodile tears were replaced by real tears, overpowered by an invasive sense of loss. Together with my children, I mourned the death of their father for the first time.

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