I met her at the hospital
I remember her
Always in her yellow bathrobe
With matching yellow slippers
She was only a few years older than I was
She told me all about
Their house out in the country
I kind of knew where they lived
I used to drive by their town
When I went out of state to see friends
She said they might have me over
Then she said
Her husband probably wouldn’t like it
I met her at the hospital
During a hot muggy summer
She was sweet and beautiful
Hair turning gray in her late twenties
We talked sometimes in the hall
She seemed afraid to go back home
And I noticed
That he never came to see her there
I said goodbye to her at the hospital
I was still too sick to leave
Then
As she was about to go
Smiling faintly
I saw – somehow –
A search
And a desperation
In her eyes
And not long after
Not very long at all…
He murdered her
They ruled it suicide
But it was him
He did it
Out there in the country
She had no place else to go
No place to escape to
Except the path she took
And her yellow robe hung there
Over her yellow slippers
In a forgotten closet
And they were sold at a yard sale
And I believe she went to a better place
And —
God help me and forgive me
But —
I hope he’s gone straight to hell
He signed his own death certificate in the courts on high when he murdered her.
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I hate this story. It is true and it is repeated over and over.
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