The color purple is really something unique. It beamed in this new painting. I tilted it slightly, straightening it on the wall. I'd wanted this particular one for months. I couldn't believe he'd actually gotten for me. Leaning into the canvas, I huffed a deep breath in. The wafting smell of acrylic was still there. Boy, it was a beauty. Dark lines and fine details. It had to be my favorite piece. I continued to stare at it in awe.

The door rattled, interrupting my moment. Rolling my eyes into the back of my head and sighing loudly, I headed to the tiny peephole to see who dared to interrupt me. To my surprise, a young woman around my age stood there in a frustrated stance holding her hands on her hips. I paused to take her in. Blonde barrel curls fell below her shoulders, and her jeans sat high on her hips, synching her waist. I narrowed my eyes. Who was she? She lifted her hand and pounded on the door again, startling me. Intrigued, I cracked the door, "Can I help you?" I said sternly.

Without notice, she heaved the door into me, "Are you, Nikki?" She screamed, storming past me, but stopping in front of the painting.

"What?" I said, confused.

She laughed, "You know, that was supposed to be mine!" I looked to see her pointing at my new gift, my painting. Stunned, I had no words. I was unsure of what to do, hoping she'd just leave. She rushed towards me, backing me into the wall.

CRACK

My head ached, and I was slightly dizzy as I came to. She was gone, along with my painting. The door was also still wide open. Slowly, I gathered my bearings and caught my reflection in the mirror above my sofa table. My right eye and cheek glistened a bright red, turning the whole side of my face deep purple. I winced, rubbing the wound. The color purple is really something unique.

’Tonight is perfect'. She says to no one. Sapphire moonlight seeps through the thin clouds high above a wife’s head. The wind breezes by slowly, warm and feathery, yet her body shivers. She checks her phone but sees nothing and for a moment, the water in her eyes distorts the city’s view. Her mind goes back to the days when they were in love. How they wrote each other’s names on the beach, shared secrets they promised to never tell, woke up only to sleep next to each other again. He loved her to the stars and back, and she loved him more. That’s what they whispered to each other’s ears and they meant every breath of it. She remembers building their first cot in their new house. Their baby would be the icing on the cake. Perfect meets perfect. A story befitting a happily-ever-after ending. Only it turns out, the child wasn’t his. And the fairytale was only that. A fairytale. Crafted finely in the hands of a wife whose sin was to forget their shared love. A sin that made mankind the original deviant. A sin that makes her stand on this ledge tonight, needing to end it all, wishing against all hope that her husband will text her back, tell her he loves her and forgives her fall from grace. But nothing comes. And she jumps.

Two three thousand miles away, husband sits in a restaurant staring at his phone. He lacks an answer to his wife’s sorry texts. What should he do? Lie that he forgave and forgot? He is certainly no liar to that degree. He quickly switches off his phone when his mistress walks in, wearing a red dress that gorgeously flatters her perfect figure. He leans in for a kiss and before that, she whispers in his ear what she always tells him. ‘Tonight is perfect.’

I walked alone to the park this afternoon, like always. I was sitting to myself, thinking, listening to songs; she came near me, saw me smiling, and smiled back at me. I saw people passing us by, and I looked at her again as she sat beside me . she asked, looking into my eyes," what's wrong? why are you bleeding? ".

I would have broken down; just that second when I heard those words, all the pieces I held together would have fallen down.

I gathered myself and paused.

It was as if my time had started to move a little.

I looked at my hands, felt my heartbeat burst, and said," all I wanted was to love and to be looked at, just that. Was that too much to ask."

She hugged me and told me it's okay, and it's gonna be alright,

" you will heal and start feeling again, slowly. You will find shelter."

I broke down in tears, my heart was heavy, but it felt better.

Listening to songs and thinking, I opened my eyes, she wasn't there, and I was still smiling. I saw emotions pass me by as I walked alone.

His smile was full of holes. The adults cooed at the gap-toothed child babbling to himself as he systematically endeavored to soothe his aching gums an assortment of colorful pacifiers. The diminishing smile and the increasing desperation signaled by the rising pitch of the child's wails caused the haggard mum to draw the little one to her lap.

The child soon discovered that knawing on his mother's finger served as a far better solution even as she attempted to tempt him away with a damp cloth she had moistened with cold water. The older matrons laughed; amused at the struggles of the young mother as she battled her stubborn baby. A few of them chortled loudly about the little ones behaviour being karmic justice for her own childhood tantrums.

As the boy settled and the gentle lull of conversation filled the room there was a rickety creak of old wood as a wizened old hand emerged from under knitted blankets to prod at the fire with an aged poker. Sunken eyes looked around at the room as the chair rocked him further and further into sleep. As he took in the cozy setting, the banter between generations and the comradery between the kin, the corners of his mouth turned up, creasing his wrinkled face even further. It was a full smile, a testament of several years but like the child's, his smile too was full of holes.