The Alfa

A chilly evening enveloped the city streets. The dim street lights emitted a warm glow, casting a light on the stained pavement. The silence of the house was broken only by the ticking of the wall clock. The curtains were drawn tightly, plunging the small room into darkness. Seated in the corner, a blonde-haired man reclined in a rigid armchair. The subdued light of an old floor lamp fell on the low table next to him, illuminated his sweatshirt-covered shoulders. The blond man gazed longingly at a large glass-framed photo. He sees a white fluffy dress, the airy lightness of her slender body, the radiant beauty of her smile and the golden highlights in her red hair. In the photo, the girl glowed with the magic of that single, most delightful day. His dearest wife. The only one, beautiful Rachel. Eric remembered how, in an intoxicating rush of joy, he had picked her up in his arms and the hem had floated up in a white cloud, hiding her graceful silhouette. He didn't walk, he flew from the altar on the swift wings of happiness. A modest wedding at which Rachel shone like a bright star in the firmament of his life. A secluded honeymoon waited ahead. If only he knew the end.       It ended abruptly. It was not their intention to wind up in the wilderness on a rainy, unpleasant night. Eric desired to head towards the hotel. However, he chose to stand by his wife. Rachel appeared captivated by the location. He had thinked for months, attempting to discern what caused her to halt in the middle of the road. The vehicle hadn't stalled, King recalled the engine's rumble. Why did she absentmindedly freeze, gazing out the window like she was under hypnosis? It was as if she was told to release the gas pedal. Only a moment. A one second. But it was enough to change they life forever. Rachel had no excuse. Rescuers extracted her from the accident site alive and uninjured. Just a couple of bruises and a fracture. Eric didn't believe it for a long time. The doctors put it down to shock. At first, it looked like he was the only one left in the meat grinder. But part of her was gone too, dying forever in that tragedy. King no longer recognized his wife. She had hardened. In bouts of pity and guilt, she sometimes gave her mercy for him. They spoke different languages and did not comprehend each other at all. She no longer knew him, and he no longer knew her. Infinitely distant, unfeeling, and detached like an inscrutable entity. Their idyll, carefully crafted over the years, had crumbled to dust. Rachel was a caged bird, increasingly separated from her family. She gave herself over to her career, jealously guarding piles of old papers and dirty photocopies from his eyes, completely oblivious to the fact that her husband had never meddled in her affairs. Staying at home shattered her, with every moment consumed by preparations, but duty demanded it. She had become a stranger in his bed. It wasn't her anymore. Rachel was drawn irresistibly east. She was needed there more. Erik devoted himself to the project, staying up day and night to perform calculations and inspections. He was doing his duty to the country, too, since he'd become useless in his marriage. King sighed heavily. Rachel had been sent to Iraq a few months prior, reducing their bond to mere professional interaction. Going to bed alone didn't feel like it. There was no longer any happiness, but he still ardently loved his wife.