"When the door opened, I saw the day before."
When the door opened, I saw the day before. The day before I said the wrong thing in the wrong way.
The day before she cried and closed our bedroom door.
I see her busy in the garden, the sun on her reddened back. She plants the dahlias I gave her: Weeds are strewn about the lawn. It was dark when I got home. I didn’t see her labour.
“Why didn’t she say?” I didn’t give her a chance.
I brought stress home and yelled at her because dinner wasn’t ready. I snapped because I couldn’t even wait 30 minutes. I’m an idiot - but I have a chance to make it right. I step forward.
“That’s not Her.” A voice echoes. I cannot see who speaks.
“Of course it’s her!” I object. “I have to tell her how much I appreciate her!”
“You can, but Tomorrow’s Her will never know.”
My stomach drops. I know the voice is right. This was Yesterday’s Her. My wife was still behind the bedroom door. But maybe...
“Maybe if I just made a small change, I could stop us from ever - "
“Why don’t you make a small change tomorrow?” Asks the voice.
“But . . . it’s too late - "
“To say sorry?” The voice cuts deep. “Leave now and Tomorrow’s Her will be abandoned forever.”
My toes push back to my heels, unstable and heavy with remorse. It wouldn’t be fair to carry this regret without her ever knowing why. My yesterday is gone, but I can make it right tomorrow. I hope.
And I close the door.
My eyes open. I’m crooked on the couch with a blanket I never lay over me. I rush to the bedroom.
When the door opens I see my Today, my Tomorrow, and Everyday she’ll have me.
“A settlement without a newspaper is like a dumb man; it has no voice.”