The Diary of Debasish Ghosh
February 3rd, 2020
I woke up on the right side of the bed. My wife’s name is Shweta. We had aloo puri for breakfast. I made my way outside the apartment to my car, a Toyota. My driver, Danish was talkative. I read the paper, The Calcutta Telegraph, to avoid him.
We reached my office around eleven, I work in a nine-storey building in Salt Lake sector.
I am the Head of Human Resources for an insurance company, I have a secretary, her name is Pooja.
I told Pooja to hold all calls and cancel all meetings for the day as I had an important task to complete for the Boss.
Around four a middle-aged man in a shiny, too snug, pin striped suit barged into my office, knocking Pooja aside as he did so.
“What the hell Deb?” He jabbed a flabby finger in face as he spoke, “Why did you cancel the interview with Vyas? Everyone knows he’s the best salesman this side of Hyderabad. We’ve worked months to get him on the team. Why man? Why?”
“Mr Deepak Sir, Debasish Ji is working on something top secret for the Boss, please come now. I will call Vyas Ji and rearrange.” Pooja placated the pompous buffoon as she showed him the door.
“I’m the Head of Sales around here, I should be the one be the one cancelling any interviews involving my department!”
“Take it up with the Boss.” I slung back as my secretary succeeded in ushering him out. She pulled the door closed behind her.
I hate salesmen.
My cabin was quiet, peaceful. I read the internet.
At seven I asked a peon to call for my driver. I reached home at eight. We had macher jhol for dinner.
I claimed a headache and went to bed at eleven. Shweta snuggled up to me under the cover. I rolled away.
I miss you my Rani, my heart belongs to you, always.
February 4th, 2020
I woke up on the right side of the bed. My wife’s name is Swati. We had dal puri for breakfast. I made my way outside the apartment to my car, a Toyota. My driver, Danish, again talkative. Again, I read the paper, The Statesman, to avoid him.
We reached the office around eleven, I still work in the nine-storey building in Salt Lake sector.
I am the Head of Sales for an insurance company, I have a secretary, her name is Srilekha.
I told Srilekha to hold all calls and cancel all meetings for the day as I had an important task to complete for the Boss.
At noon, Srilekha apologetically put an important phone call through from a M. M. Vyas. I know him, I studied at La Martiniere with him when we were boys.
“DG how are you doing? You told the boss the good news yet? I handed my papers in, they wept when they realized I was moving to you guys. Let the good times roll!” The same old arrogant manner, and annoying mannerisms.
“Actually, the Boss did some digging into your background, he found out you’re a fraud and we’ve withdrawn the offer. Don’t call me again.” I slammed down the receiver. I hate salesmen.
That petty act of revenge was many years and many lives in the making. I found myself experiencing joy again. I found myself experiencing something again.
Around four a lean, middle aged man with greying sideburns and wire glasses burst into my office, leaving Srilekha tumbling in his wake. He had biscuit crumbs stuck in his well-groomed moustache.
“What the hell Ghosh? We’ve been working for months to get Vyas on board and you cut him loose at the last hurdle?” He loomed over my desk, if he’d been a cartoon character, steam would have vented out of both ears, “The only reason you got this job over Deepak is because you said you could reel Vyas in. Now he’s threatening to sue me for loss of earnings and defamation of character.”
I reached up and flicked a crumb out of the moustache. He recoiled, shock battling with indignation for control of those haughty features.
“You’re fired. Collect your things and get out.” I could tell he wanted to add more, but he controlled himself in front of Srilekha, after all it wouldn’t do for one of the great merchant clan to swear in front of the help.
I sauntered out from behind my desk, gave a lazy bow to the Boss, turned, and exited the cabin.
“Sir Ji, your things?” Srilekha caught my elbow as I was halfway across the ninth floor. I shrugged, what were they to me anyway, nothing of mine for sure.
As I exited the elevator at the entrance lobby, I ripped off my tie at threw in the wastepaper basket by reception. I ignored the perplexed looks from the junior staff and made my way to a chai stall I’d seen earlier by the entrance.
A nice chai, a rare day when there was something to savour. Even rarer when there was more than one thing to savour.
I spent the afternoon wandering between the multitude of fishing ponds that gave Salt Lake its name.
I reached home around eight. We had kosha mangsho for dinner.
I claimed a headache and went to bed at eleven. Swati undressed and snuggled up to me naked as a new-born under the cover. I rolled away.
I miss you my Rani, where are you?
February 5th, 2020
I woke up on the left side of the bed. Reflexively I made sure my diary was under the pillow. My wife is still Swati. We had poha, from a packet, for breakfast. I made my way outside the apartment to my car, a Nano. My driver, Raj, was sullen. A good thing as it turned out, the ride was far too bumpy for me to read.
When we reached the office, I had a headache from the constant bashing of my head on the ceiling of the car. It was the same office, third time in a row. That was unusual.
As I stepped out of the elevator on the ninth floor, Srilekha zipped across the floor and grabbed my elbow, “It’s gone eleven thirty, I stalled him for you. He’s in a foul mood, but stick to your guns. You’re the best salesman we have, and you deserve that promotion.”
I hate salesmen.
Srilekha adjusted my tie and smiled flirtatiously as she led me to the cabin that yesterday had been mine. Stencilled on the frosted glass of the door was M. M. Vyas Head of Sales.
Stepping across the threshold, I saw the familiar figure of my nemesis pacing behind his desk as he spoke on a hands-free device of some sort. His dyed jet-black locks slicked back as usual, his toned body filling the tailored suit, and as ever gold cufflinks glinted from the sleeves of his Italian shirt.
After leaving me standing for five minutes he finished his call and turned to me, “You’re late DG, take a seat.”
I stared for a moment into the smarmy features of the man who had stolen my Rani on so many occasions, then I launched a savage jab to his face. He fell back, his nose a fountain of crimson. A savage elation washed over me. Then a disturbing flashback.
As I ran from the security peons outside, weaving my way through the street food vendors and their ramshackle stalls, I had an epiphany as I realised that the only way I could feel anything at all now was by hurting Vyas.
The overweight rent-a-cops had long given up by the time I stopped at a patch of land where yesterday I’d skipped stones across the placid surface of a pond. Today a derelict building earmarked for demolition occupied the plot. I double checked the address on the warning sign, there was no doubt it was the same.
From my accumulated experiences I knew that this meant a bigger shift was on the way. My elation faded into the usual blank acceptance. I drifted around the Salt Lake blocks aimlessly, trying to match a myriad of memories to the scenes in front of me.
Around four a jeep marked Bidhannagar Police pulled up alongside me, a couple of khaki uniformed constables bundled me into the back.
I spent the rest of the afternoon in the charging area of Bidhannagar Station. I spent the evening in their lock-up. They fed me watery daal and stale rotis.
I have no idea what time I fell asleep.
February 6th, 2020
I woke up on the right side of the bed. Reflexively I made sure my diary was under the pillow. My wife is Srilekha. She woke me with oral sex. I didn’t stop her. Afterwards I rolled away. She asked me what was wrong, I told her I felt shame and guilt.
“You don’t like making love with me anymore?” Saucer wide eyes stared into mine, lips trembling as she spoke.
“It wasn’t making love, I used you. I’m sorry but my heart belongs to another.” She burst into tears and buried her head under a pillow. Another wave of shame and guilt washed over me. So, hurting others as well as Vyas managed to illicit a response in me. I wondered if I’d ever feel a positive emotion again, whether I could ever be a good man again.
I gathered some clothes and my diary before leaving the unfortunate Srilekha to her own pain. Grabbing what was clearly my jacket from the rack by the front door I sped out of the apartment.
The society elevator was out, and as I raced down the stairwell with its fractured concrete steps, it became evident that the building was more ramshackle than the last few days.
A two-wheeler was parked in my spot outside, a battered TVS, rooting through the jacket pockets I came up with the keys.
I took Circus Avenue, or whatever its name was today, until I reached the free for all that was Park Circus, that never seemed to alter at least. Heading out of the junction I motored up Park Street until I saw the familiar gates of the cemetery.
This time there was no fee, no ticket wallahs on the gate, and the famous burial ground was an unkempt mess. In truth I did not mind, I welcomed the added shade and privacy that would allow me to investigate my hunch in peace.
Sitting on the plinth of a brick mausoleum, the resting place of one Hindoo Stuart, I opened the diary flicking back to the relevant entries.
I was right, I’d been hurtling through this personal torment for over a year now. If I could believe the diary. If I could believe my senses.
February 3rd, 2019
Normal day at the office. Making good progress on the streaming platform, we should be able to tie up all the sites in one place. Forecast for advertising revenue was a plus, for sure I will get that spot on the board says the Boss.
It happened again on the way home today, I’m sure of it this time. I got Ramlal to stop the car on the street. I got out and examined the shop, I’m certain it was closer to the junction again today. I measured the steps from Standard Meat butchers to the Gariahat Road crossing, fifteen paces. I will check again tomorrow.
Reached home a little late because of my experiment, I explained why to Rani. She burst out laughing, said I always had a crazy imagination, but she loves me anyway.
We ordered biryani from Arsalan and settled for night in front of the television watching Indian’s Got Talent.
February 4th, 2019
Good day at the office. Boss is incredibly pleased with our efforts.
I got Ramlal to stop the car on the way home so I could complete my experiment. I measured the steps from Standard Meat to the Gariahat Road crossing, ten paces! I was right! I walked fifteen paces also and stopped outside a mom and pop tobacconist. I asked the uncle behind the counter how long he had the place, he replied thirty years! It sure looked old enough.
I was so excited I babbled to Ramlal all the way home. He thought I was joking.
“Sir I watched you yesterday, it was only ten paces then. The shop is where it always was. I’ve bought mutton from there myself. Always it was there.”
When I got home, I told Rani of my great discovery, she patted me gently on the cheek, “Yes dear, that’s what you said yesterday. Now don’t be silly, you just forgot your measurement that’s all.”
I pouted for a while, she came over and snuggled whilst I surfed the channels looking for Got Talent.
“Where is that blasted Karan Johar show?”
“India’s Got Talent? That doesn’t start till next month laddoo.”
“We watched it last night whilst we ate the biryani!”
“That was Big Boss and pizza, are you feeling alright Deb?”
I said maybe I had a fever and went for a lie down. I checked yesterday’s entry, and everything was as I said, what is going on? I put the diary back in its usual spot under my pillow.
Am I going mad? Should I see a doctor? Is everyone lying?
February 5th, 2019?
Terrible! Terrible! Terrible!
Oh god. Where to begin?
The shop, yes, the shop.
The outbound flyover was closed so we took a diversion back through the Gariahat Crossing and the butcher, the blasted butcher, was on the other side of the road!
It was always on my left coming home at night, this time it was on my left going in the opposite direction.
I made Ramlal stop.
I spoke to the owner of the shop, he said they moved from across the road ten years ago when the landlord wanted to develop apartments at the old site. Old site? It was just there yesterday!
I thought my mind was collapsing, I told Ramlal I was ill and to take me home. Rani would help. Rani always knows what to do.
I unlocked the door to our flat, and pondered what to say to my wife as I walked on in. On the sofa was Rani, naked. She was writhing on another man.
I screamed and collapsed to the marble tiles.
“Oh Shit!” Rani scrambled from the sofa, grabbing the simple kurta I had watched her put on a few hours before.
“Oh god, you weren’t meant to find out this way!”
“What? Find out what?” I couldn’t take much more, was anything real? Was anything what I thought?
“That she was leaving you for a real man, a proper breadwinner. A go getter, not a loser like you Deb.” The other man’s voice was horrifyingly familiar.
I looked up at the sweaty and ridiculously hirsute torso of my childhood nemesis, M. M. Vyas.
“Bapri! This can’t be, you dumped this idiot for me, because he was such an ass. Always hazing us.”
“He’s promised to provide me everything I need. What with your job going so badly, I need someone who help me look after Ma,” Rani’s tone was determined, but she couldn’t look me in the eye, gaze locked at her feet as she reached out a hand to her lover, “with dad passing we’ll need a bigger place when she comes to live with us.”
“What do you mean my job going badly? Your Dad passing? What nonsense is this?”
“God you’re pathetic Deb, can’t admit the software company is going down the drain, can’t even remember his father in law has passed. No wonder she came to me.” Vyas stood, proudly strutting his manliness.
I was pleased to see I beat him on one thing at least.
I turned to my wife, pleading, “Rani, please, this isn’t you. The woman I know would never do this to me.”
Vyas didn’t let her reply, “You don’t know her at all, you pathetic little geek. She’s ambitious and she’s happy to hook up with the number one insurance salesman in the area.”
Something snapped inside, “I hate salesman!”
I launched myself up from the floor straight at the beast of a man, I don’t know where the strength came from, but I was on him before he could blink.
I smashed him in the face, his nose crumpling into a purple fountain. He lost his footing and tumbled backwards over the arm of the sofa. As gravity propelled him towards the floor, the back of his head connected with the sharp edge of the dining table.
Rani screamed and dived over the three-seater to tend the Salesman of the Year.
“Oh god, you bastard! You killed him. He’s bloody dead. You murderer!”
“What? No that can’t be.” I swung around the lumpen furniture; a huge puddle of crimson had spread out from Vyas’s head. I reached down to check his pulse. Nothing.
“Shit, I’ll call an ambulance.”
“Too late you bloody bastard. Get out, get out! I curse the day I met you, I curse your very existence! Bastard! Get out!”
I scrambled out of the apartment, out of the block, and out onto the road.
I wandered for hours, expecting white uniformed constables to descend on me at any moment, but it didn’t happen. As night fell, I found myself taking shelter under a flyover. I flopped down on a discarded mattress and closed my eyes.
I don’t know when I passed out.
February 6th, 2019?
I woke up on my usual side of the bed, the half-light drifting through the curtains. I must get Rani to change the blind.
Rani!
I jumped up in bed, earning a disgruntled groan from the sleeping figure next to me. My breathing relaxed and the pace of my heart slowed.
It must have been a dream. What a horrible dream though. I felt under the pillow for my diary, it was there as always. I snuggled up to my wife.
“It’s too early.” An unfamiliar voice replied.
I rolled my bed companion over, a strange face looked at me with sleepy eyes.
I screamed and sat bolt upright, scrambling for the edge of the bed.
“What the hell Deb? What’s wrong? Did you dream about Vyas again?”
“What the hell! What the hell? Who the hell are you?”
“Only Nidhi, your wife of the last five years, you numbskull__
I couldn’t read anymore after that, it was all too painful, too raw. Every day the same pattern, always some change, sometimes minor and sometimes major. Every day though. The calendar seemed to pass as normal but always a change, a new wife, or a new house, maybe a new job. New friends, new family.
Two things remained the same though, my diary, always under my pillow, and there was always Vyas somewhere. Rani was often with him in the early days, but I hadn’t seen her for months and I’d given up looking for her. It was never my Rani anyway.
So, was I cursed then? Had Rani cursed me?
Surely though the weirdness had started before…I killed Vyas; the diary confirmed that. Why did the world change so? Am I just rotting in an asylum somewhere? Am I lost in a coma?
I need to sleep on this.
February 7th, 2020
Srilekha. My wife is still Srilekha She woke me with oral sex. I didn’t stop her.
Afterwards she rolled away with a chuckle, “I know you love that. Never fails to get you up in time for work. Pay me back in kind tonight.”
I felt less guilt after re-reading the diary. Still, I felt some shame to use someone I barely knew.
Quick as flash, which seemed indecent so early in the morning, she was out of bed flinging the blinds open.
“Gah! Too bright woman!”
“Can’t let you drop off again, you have a big day ahead of you saving the world from flooding Mister Chief Engineer. Gods, I can’t believe you got the promotion.” She squealed and jumped back onto the bed.
My eyes finally adjusted to the daylight, and as they did so I noticed something peculiar.
“You dyed your hair blonde?” As I peered closer, it wasn’t just the hair, her skin was alabaster white.
“Always making fun of my hair, and my skin colour. I can’t help it if my great grandmother came over from London with the Marahanee Victoria and the other refugees.”
Srilekha was speaking perfect Bengali like a native of North Kolkata, the features were still those that I’d come to know, but it was if someone had replaced the woman with a Scandinavian clone. It was disconcerting.
“I’ll never be good enough for my high-born prince.” She gave a dramatic sigh and rolled back out of bed, heading for the washroom.
“Up at eight, can’t be late for Kanoria and Sons, ‘cos they won’t wait.” She hummed as she disappeared.
She reappeared a few minutes later wearing underwear and smelling of turmeric toothpaste.
“What were you singing?”
“As if you haven’t heard it before, a thousand times. My little mantra to ward off the evil spirits of boredom at the most thrilling firm of accountants in the universe.”
She yanked me off the bed and propelled me to the bathroom, “Your turn, get a move on, or I’ll have to take up singing full time to keep us in the luxury we’re accustomed too.”
My driver was Arun, the car was an electric BWM.
I work for Iverson Steel and Engineering at a huge high rise on Chowringhee in the centre of the city. Amongst a forest of such high rises along the road, this one stood out like a soaring redwood. Tethered to the roof was a massive airship, the biggest I’d ever seen, not that in truth I’d ever seen many.
My office is on the thirtieth floor, my secretary is Pooja. It was good to see a familiar face.
I’m the Chief Engineer of a global project to halt planetary warming and combat rising sea levels. We’re remarkably successful. A prominent sign on the lobby for the executive floor proclaimed saviours of the Bharat Empire, whatever that is.
I told Pooja to hold my calls, she reminded me I had a personal life insurance appointment booked for four with Mr Vyas, I cancelled.
I spent the afternoon admiring the amazing view from my cabin window. There were European looking folks everywhere, most seemed to be wearing traditional ethnic wear.
I reached home around eight, we were too busy in the bedroom to eat.
I fell asleep in the early hours of the morning.
February 14th, 2020?
The don’t stop coming. They keep hunting us. Day and night.
I’m not sure of the date anymore, I’m holed up with Srilekha, Pooja and some others in a fallout shelter beneath the Iverson building. In this world old man Iverson had it built in the nineteen seventies for some reason. Lucky us, it wasn’t there yesterday, and we lost Pooja to one of the roaming gangs with nowhere to hide.
Who are these Farmers they keep babbling about as they haul folks away screaming? These goons are everywhere, all over the world, and the globe is burning. I’m sure I saw Vyas leading a troop of the bastards today.
Ha! Srilekha just reminded me its Valentine’s Day, don’t think we’ll be able to celebrate in public, though she seems keen to try. Not sure when we’ll get a chance again. Or when I’ll get a chance to write again.
February 20th, 2020?
Oh gods! Are we safe in here? Anywhere?
Those things, those hideous devilish monstrosities, they keep coming and nothing can stop them. Tentacles, metallic talons, impossibly large mouths filled with row upon row of shark’s teeth. The stuff of nightmares made flesh.
At least now we know who the Farmers are.
The bunker reappeared this morning, but its only Srilekha and I left.
Civilization is gone, whole cities slaughtered by these things. Most people they cull, but I’ve seen them eat a few in front of the condemned, a horrible last rite of sorts. Is it torture? Have I been in hell all along?
I’m turning the light off now, maybe they’ll miss us. Srilekha and I will huddle together and pray, though I’ve lost track of which religions there are here.
We can hope as well as pray, I guess.
February 29th, 2020?
The Farmers have gone. I haven’t seen the demons for four days. Though each time I’ve woken up since, the Earth seems to have suffered some calamity or other.
Today is the first day the world has been stable enough to stay in one place, and the first time in days I’ve had access to writing tools. I’m sat in the old boardroom on the thirty first floor of the Iverson Tower. I’m the Mayor of a small township based around the high rises on Chowringhee, and this is my stateroom.
Here we failed in our attempts to halt global warming and the world suffered catostrophic sea level rises. Most of Kolkata is flooded, the water is as high as the tenth floor of this building.
On the thirtieth floor below, there is a ramshackle bridge stretching from my old cabin to the next skyscraper. Similar structures span out in a rickety web across all the nearby towers.
I’m told the low-lying cities across the planet suffered the same fate. Those who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, evacuate have tried to build civilizations amongst the crumbling edifices of capitalism. The fate of the rest of the globe I know less about.
Srilekha is still with me, as she has been throughout all these horrible days. She is always hopeful, always brave, practical to a fault and always beautiful. She saved my life several times in the horror days.
Today she is fair again, it seems quite random from day to day what her genetics will throw out. The person inside is always caring though, and always in love with me.
If it wasn’t for the memory of Rani, maybe…
I must finish writing, to conserve our limited power the lights will be switched off at nine. My order.
March 11th, 2020
The world is normal again. I woke up on the left-hand side of the bed with Srilekha performing oral sex on me. She really shouldn’t in her condition. I will be a father for the first time, anywhere.
I work a menial job as a data cruncher for the government owned telecom provider just off Chowringhee. Srilekha is a senior partner with H S Kanoria & Sons across town, we met for lunch at a Chinese restaurant on Park Street. She is a gentle soul and always seems content with me no matter what circumstance I find us in.
I think, I think… I could love her. I should move on from Rani. The things I have experienced with Srilekha have eclipsed what went before.
I saw Vyas on the Metro as I travelled home. He looked his usual self and I wondered what had made him use public transport. We nodded politely to each other in recognition and there was no animosity. Many people wore face masks, I’m not sure why.
I reached home around eight.
We ordered Pizza and watched Saif Ali Khan’s new thriller serial on a streaming service. Srilekha fell asleep in my arms. I want to stay here. I want to stay with this person.
Maybe I’ve turned a corner, maybe I’ve grown. Could my luck have changed?
March 12th, 2020
I woke up on the middle of the bed, alone. She is gone. I am lost again. I found her photo on the wall wreathed in a lotus garland.
My driver, Ramlal of all people, found me crying downstairs. He told me I have done the same on many days in the year since she was killed crossing Seven Point crossing on foot.
He dropped me at my work and reminded me that God works in mysterious ways. Incredibly I’m back at the software campus in Salt Lake, at my original job. My real job.
The boss is still pleased with the progress, we are due to go live in a couple of days. I was numb as he delivered the praise, he must have noticed as he asked if I’d tried the dating website he recommended.
I locked myself in my cabin and tired to focus on the work, the routines were familiar still, but my mind wandered to Srilekha, and Rani.
Rani’s social media page proclaimed that she was happily married to Vyas with two bouncing baby boys. Her snaps looked anything but happy.
I still hate salesmen.
At four my mother rung, a shock, as to me she had been dead for seven years. I cried, a lot, she told me to pull myself together as Indian men don’t cry. Being alive hadn’t changed her disposition much.
I reached home at eight carrying a bottle of Blender’s Pride and a takeaway pizza. Ramlal gave me a hug and a pat on the back as I got down from the Toyota.
I don’t know when I passed out.
March 13th, 2020
I woke up on the right-hand side of the bed with a warm body next to me. The body clambered out of bed and dashed for the bedroom toilet. For five minutes or more came the stop start noises of retching and dry heaving.
A cold panic overtook me, and I found myself paralysed with fear and longing, able to offer my suffering companion neither assistance nor solace.
The door to the toilet opened and my eyes took a moment to adjust to the glare of a sodium bulb.
Rani, by god it was Rani. She held her belly.
“Well Mr Ghosh, I am now certain you will have to use your new director’s salary to buy us a bigger apartment.”
“Are you sure it’s mine?”
“You’re lucky I know your sense of humour Mister. Other, lesser, women would be calling their parents to take them home by now.”
I stared into the lovely brown eyes that I had missed so long, “When was the last time you saw Vyas?”
Her face darkened, “OK now that’s a sick joke too far. You know perfectly well that two of us got onto his bike that day, and only one of us walked away alive. It’s been five years but I’m still sensitive about it, so please don’t play.”
I was too stunned to respond.
“Seriously Deb, stop it. The cops never did a thing and that cut me up for a long time. They said it was an accident, but I’m telling you that truck drove straight for us. It was personal.” Tears started to flow, and my protective instincts kicked in as I folded her in my arms.
Her next words chilled me to the bone, “I haven’t told you this before, but I cursed the driver. I was so angry.” She shook within my grip, “My mother knows some old black magic and she taught me to lay down a dark curse that would haunt a man forever. For eternity. I spat that at the driver as sped off. I hope he got what he deserved.”
The world around me started to spin, but I forced the whirl of emotions down, “Listen I’m going to take the day off and spend it with you, it isn’t every day you learn you’re starting a family. I’m going spend it right here with you.”
She blinked back some of the moisture from her eyes, “Are you sure? What about work?”
“I’m a director now. Apparently. I think it’s time I called some shots. I don’t ever want to miss this day.”
The rest of the day was beautiful, one of the finest of my lives. I know this though, whatever happens tomorrow, whether I wake up here or elsewhere this is the last diary entry.
If all is well, I’ll put this childish thing in an incinerator. If the worst occurs, well then, let’s just say I’ll end my travails in my own way.
Whatever transgressions I may, or may not, have occurred somewhere or somewhen, I’ve suffered enough
I can’t go forward mourning two women.
I can’t, I just can’t.
THE END