My Ex Almost Broke Me

Home

Bukhosi’s POV

Last night when I came home, my family welcomed me. Walking into my old room made me feel like they were expecting me back home soon. And that also hurts. What made my family think it would end up like this? Did they see the signs that I missed? Whenever there was a problem, I didn’t think too much about it, I always assumed that we would get through it. I look around my room, my mother has kept it the way I left it. I walk towards my soccer stars' posters on my walls and I start removing them. I am too old for this now. And Sibu always hated these posters when we slept over. Just thinking about her brings tears to my eyes. I roughly wipe them. I thought I had cried enough last night. But, apparently not. I think what hurts the most is that she’s pregnant with another man’s child, while she kept telling me she’s not ready and I understood. And I wonder how she knows who the father is. Stupid fat tears won’t stop falling. I crumble the posters in my hands, making a ball before I throw them into my small dustbin. And now I need to remove the stains on my wall before painting again. I don’t know who painted this wall. I suspect Senkosi, my brother, is lazy. He didn’t remove the posters when he applied a new coat of paint. It can only be him. And now the wall is grey with light blue paint where the posters were.

After a quick shower, I went to my old van for a can of paint, and I couldn’t find the same colour as the one on the wall. The grey I have here is dark. So to keep my mind off things, I decided to repaint the whole room. At least I have something better to do than stay and think about Sibu the whole time. Her betrayal really cut deep. I don’t think I’ll get over it. But maybe it’s because it’s still fresh. I hope that’s the case, because I don’t ever want to feel like this. Ever.

“Bukhosi,” said my mother an hour into my painting. She pulls me into a hug, my back still hurts from the hug I received last night. My mother is short and having to bend hurt my back. And we stood like that for some time last night. So it might happen again. I’m not complaining. And I didn’t even realise I was crying while I was painting. I always pride myself on being the strongest person I know, but here I am crying over a person who chose someone else over me. A person who I am sure as hell isn’t crying for me. How could she do this to me? Wasn’t I a good husband? I know I’m not perfect and I wasn’t a perfect husband, but I tried to make her happy, make things easier for her. I made sure she always felt loved and appreciated, even when we fought.

“I can’t believe she would do this to me. If she wasn’t happy, why didn’t she tell me?” I asked my mother, crying. I know I’m asking the wrong person. Of course, my mom doesn’t know. Only Sibu knows.

“It’s okay my boy,” said my mom, rubbing my back. She really isn’t planning to stop calling me my boy, no matter how old I am. And I’m almost 30. Even thinking about my birthday makes me sad. Sibu always has something planned for me on my birthday and visa verse. So in 2 months, I’ll have to go back to planning my birthday, after 8 years. I don’t even know why I was thinking about my birthday when I was kicked out of my home, less than 24 hours ago. My mom lets go and I can relax. These hugs are going to give me back problems long before old age does. But I am grateful and I’m no longer crying, so that’s a good thing.

“It’s time for breakfast,” said my mom, heading to the door. She looks at me with teary eyes before she leaves softly closing the door behind her. Ten minutes later, I followed her to the dining room. My father and brother are here. I greeted everyone and I headed to the nearest chair. Senkosi opens the chair next to him. And as much as I don’t want to sit next to him. I do it because I am too lazy to go around the table. He won’t let me eat in peace if I don’t. All eyes are on me, it’s making me uncomfortable, but I don’t say anything. As soon as I sit down, my parents and brother all stand and reach out for a bowl. They all wanted to plate me whatever we are having.

“I appreciate the gesture, but since when do I need help dishing up my own food?” I asked them. “I was kicked out of my home. I am not sick.” I know it’s wrong to lash out, but I hate that. Since when does my brother and father dish up for me? My mother always dished up for us. I tried to stop her when I was old enough. It embarrassed me. My friends used to joke about it but later confessed that they secretly envied me. She didn’t stop. She didn’t stop even when I got married. I was the head of a household for heaven’s sake. She didn’t stop. Instead, she even dished up for Sibu, and she loved it. A lot. I feel bad for lashing out. I asked my mom to dish up for me instead. She seems grateful, it’s like she lives for this. Sibu once said she wanted to be like my mom, both as a wife and a mother. But she isn’t anything like my mom. My mom would never betray my father like that.

“Earth to Bukhosi,” said Senkosi after some time. I didn’t even notice that I zoned out. I clear my throat and thank my mom for the food and dishing up and I force myself to eat. I am not hungry, but I know my family will stress if I don’t eat. We eat in an uncomfortable silence. We always have so much to tell each other, especially since I haven’t been home for some time.