An Act Of Redemption

She turned on the shower to let ice cold water wash over her bare body. Even as she struggled with the initial breathlessness, she held her head still. She wanted to know how it felt. She bent and sat down on the tub floor. She folded her knees upward and hugged her self tight. She shut her eyes.

“Its all your fault!” – the words of her distraught husband rang in her ears. She opened her eyes suddenly. She turned off the shower and sat there, sobbing profusely.

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She didnt even know when she had slept off in the tub. Her nose was blocked from the cold. Her hair was half dry. She picked herself up, toweled herself dry and put on her clothes

She sat on her bed. It felt like she hadn’t any energy left. She couldn’t rest either. Sleeplessness and undernutrition left her face hollow. Her relationship with her husband kept getting worse day after day. He couldn’t forgive her. He wouldn’t even look at her face. But saving her marriage was the last thing on her mind.

Because memories of her love kept haunting her. His smell. His laugh. His touch. His unkempt hair. His yearning eyes. Her grief knew no bounds. 

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It was just 2 months ago that a phone call had changed her life. She was bathing her one year old son in his tub. She carefully filled the tub upto three inches of water and put him in along with his favorite rubber ducky. Her phone rang in the living room. She had been applying for jobs and expected it to be an employer. 

“Mommy’ll be right back!” she said rushing towards the phone.

“Hello..” she said tracing her steps back to the bathroom.

“Hello good morning! Is this Zoya Siddique?” A polite female voice.

“Yes”

“Hi Zoya. I’m Sharon calling from IPR Publishing. You had applied for the role of Junior Editor at our company website, right? Can you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

Zoya gulped a big one. She hadn’t expected a call from IPR. She stood still trying to remember the paragraph that she had learnt by rote. She spoke about her education, amateur trysts during her college years, her attempts at freelancing, and that short job in a small company. She tried hard not to sound like she was blurting it out. Unknowingly, she had even wrapped herself with the curtain in the corridoor.

“Great! We would like to see you for an interview tomorrow at 12 pm. I will send you a location map to your email address. Thank you very much.”

“You are welcome”. Zoya set down the phone. She went into the kitchen absentmindedly, opened the fridge and stared inside for a minute. She mulled over the long break she had taken from her career, and how desperate she was to get back. Then she suddenly remembered that she had left her son in the tub.

She rushed to the bathroom. At the doorstep, she saw the tub but she couldn’t find him. There was no sound. She inched towards the tub clasping her chest. What she saw beat the breath out of her lungs.

He lay in the water, face down. His rubber ducky rested on the small of his back. Her knees felt weak. She bent to pick her baby’s still body. Without breathing, she set him on her lap and tried to administer CPR. The baby did not move. She shook him slowly at first, and then wildly. She called out his name many times.

His eyes did not open.

Putting the lifeless baby on her shoulder she called her husband. Ashkar rushed home and took the baby to the hospital. The whirlwind that ensued left their small family broken forever. Their only child, the meaning of their marriage, was dead.
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Zoya lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. She thought about the gathering at her little boy’s funeral. She clearly remembered how some relatives had given her accusing looks. Even now there were phone calls of curious people that poured in. Most people did not care to hide the shock and dismay in their voices when they heard about the cause of death.
She also thought of how drastically Ashkar had changed, right in front of her eyes. How many days had he gone to office with bloodshot eyes. He spoke nothing; except for that one argument they had one day. He slept on the sofa. Some days he never came home. 
When will this misery end? Zoya wondered amidst tears. It never will. She lost her son to death, now she will lose her husband to silence.

As if in a daze, she slowly got up and went to the kitchen. The scraping knife lay in the drawer. She went to the bathroom and filled the bathtub with water. When it filled halfway, she immersed herself in it. She slit open both her wrists uptil her elbows. And she lay down expectantly.

As the blood gushed out, Zoya felt oddly relaxed. She felt all her pain exit her body.

“Mommy’s coming, Ayaan” she whispered before slowly losing herself. She dreamt of herself emerging from a river bank and her son toddling towards her to pull her out.

The water in the tub turned crimson. Zoya drowned in her own pain, hoping it will atone for everything.