It was past midnight when the house finally fell into silence. The only sounds were the rhythmic hum of the garden generator and the distant barking of stray dogs.
Purple waited. She lay in bed beside her husband, his breathing slow and steady in sleep. His chest rose and fell in calm rhythm, completely unaware of the chaos simmering inches away from him.
Carefully, she peeled the blanket off and slipped her feet into the indoor slippers. Her movement was quiet, trained.
She had done this before. She picked up a small pouch from under the wardrobe, hidden deep, and then she padded downstairs, unlocking the kitchen back door with practiced ease.
The night air was cool against her skin as she stepped into the garden. It was still, bathed in silver moonlight, with shadows from the orange tree stretching across the stone walkway like sleeping guards.
Purple sat on the edge of the concrete bench beneath the tree. With a flick of her lighter, she had picked from the kitchen the tip of the wrapped weed, caught flame, sizzled, and then glowed a dull light.
She inhaled, long, deep, and familiar.
The tension in her shoulders dropped almost instantly. The haze started to cloud her mind, dulling the ache behind her eyes, the weight pressing on her chest. A small, ironic smile curled at her lips.
"God, I missed this." She said, leaning back and staring into the stars, smoke curling lazily from her mouth.
So many things she'd buried just to wear the crown of "wife." So many parts of herself left behind to be accepted by a man she'd studied, packaged herself for, and won. She took another drag of the wrap.
"All in the name of being the perfect woman," she muttered bitterly.
She had met Abiola at church during a youth outreach program. He thought she was innocent, soft-spoken, God-fearing. And she played the part to perfection. She gave him exactly what he wanted. He never saw the girl who used to roll with street boys, who partied in warehouses, who smoked loud in school parking lots. He never knew the real her.
And she had been okay with that. Because he was the goal.
"Rich man," she scoffed under her breath.
"Funny."
She took another puff.
He hadn't been rich when they met. But with her father's money, she had invested in Abiola, as she was determined to win and not be the one left out without a rich man, a love life, and a happy marriage. She built him into what he became: helped him register his first business, connected him with suppliers, even paid the deposit for the land his office now stood on..
"But did I win or am I still a mockery?. I think Star had it all, I was just a spoiled brat with no compassion, but after all, I too lost my mother, I didn't even get to see what she looked like, but Star knew her mother. In the end, she married someone I have always loved, and am here struggling with a man I had set up, all in the name of a child, these people won't let me be, who cares?"
She looked back toward the house, her eyes growing glassy.
The marriage she'd sacrificed everything for was crumbling in her hands. His mother hated her. He had started to look at her like a stranger. There was another woman brought into their home, but thank God that for once, the mummy's boy stood up and defeated his mother's agenda. But for how long would that last?
And the one thing she couldn't give him, the one thing everyone expected of her, was the one thing her body kept rejecting.
Tears streamed down her face silently, mixing with smoke and moonlight. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, quickly, angrily.
"I gave everything. Let me just go with them to meet the doctor, I pray he doesn't vindicate me."
She stared at the half-burned wrap in her hand and took one last drag before crushing it out on the stone beside her. Some wraps remained untouched in the pouch, but she didn't light them. Not tonight. As she zipped the pouch shut, she whispered to herself:
"If I lose this marriage… I lose the mask. I lost the lie. And I don't know if I have the strength to live without either."
She stood slowly, legs slightly unsteady, and walked back toward the house. As she locked the kitchen back door behind her, she didn't know whether she was locking the world out… or locking herself in.
Abiola was not understanding what the doctor was saying. He looked at Cliton, who had come in company with his doctor friend to share the results he had gotten from the hospital, where scans and tests were performed on his wife, after much persuasion, before his wife could agree to the scan being run on her.
Purple was quiet; she had started developing cold feet, but she prayed silently that he would forgive her past, as she was ready to tell her story.
Dr. Dominic, a calm, middle-aged specialist with kind eyes, sat with Cliton, their sofa facing the couple, who were still in their pyjamas.
He flipped through the results of the recent tests, which he had just gotten from the hospital. He had recently resumed work with his former hospital, just after coming back from the States. He repeated, after observing the silence from the couple,
"We've done a pelvic scan, a saline ultrasound, and now this most recent hysteroscopy confirmed it."
Purple swallowed hard, still quiet.
"Please, repeat, what exactly is wrong?" Abiola asked, feeling nervous, maybe he had made a mistake the first time and pronounced the wrong diagnosis.
There was a pause. The doctor spoke gently, as though each word could break something fragile.
"Her womb, there's significant scarring inside. Her uterine lining is very thin and irregular. It's a condition called Asherman's Syndrome. It happens when the inside of the womb is injured… sometimes from surgery or..." he paused, giving Purple a knowing look,
"from an abortion that wasn't done properly."
"Jesus!", Abiola shouted in disbelief. He looked at his quiet wife, shook his head in disbelief, and looked back at the doctor.
"I think there may be a misunderstanding somewhere. My wife has PCOS, and she is currently on medication."
"There is no misunderstanding, this is the medical result of her test. We can drive to our hospital if you still need any confirmation", Dr. Dominic said, closing the file.
"Lady, is there something you're not telling us?" Clinton asked Purple
"Guy, please don't talk to my wife like that.", Abiola said to Clinton in anger. He turned to his wife,
"Babe, do we need to go confront the PCOS doctor?"
Just then, Purple burst into tears, she was trying to hold...
"No need, I bribed him, I'm sorry", she said, wiping off the sneeze rolling from her nose.
"You bribed a doctor? For what exactly? What kind prank be this, this early morning?, Guy, do you hear what my wife just said?"
Clinton breathed hard, he was not surprised as he'd heard a lot of women behind the back stories in relationships and marriage, more reason why he made up his mind on marriage.
"Of course, that's the truth. I warned you about women and their tricks, she wouldn't want to be embarrassed in the hospital if we drive down there, but we will see it to the end. I got you, my brother."
"Babe, please, what is happening. Is this a prank?" Abiola's confused state could be figured out from his voice.
A flash of pain shot through Purple's chest. The memory of a hidden past came rushing back.
"I… I was young," she stammered, eyes brimming with tears, as she flashed back.
"I didn't know it would cost me this."