Broken vows

CHARLOTTE

Rogerio was the type of man any woman would dream of. I spent my time doing things I thought would make him happy. Today, I asked the cook, Maria, to prepare his favorite meal in anticipation of his return for dinner. However, he had not arrived yet.

“How many times have you seen a rocket in the sky?" I asked aloud.

“What?” Maria asked and lifted her head to meet my gaze. “I don’t understand.”

“A rocket, Maria. Do you know what that is?" I questioned, arching an eyebrow.

“Of course,” she answered with a knowing smile.

“Good. How many times have you seen one?”

“Barely," she replied, her expression shifting from curiosity to confusion repeatedly.

“Yeah. That’s how much I’ve seen Roggie in this house,” I acknowledged, and an awkward silence filled the room.

“He doesn’t like to be called that,” she said after a long time.

“I know. Perhaps that’s why he’s angry? And he hasn’t come home. Have I let out that name unknowingly?”

“I doubt it,” she responded dryly and lowered her gaze. “The food’s getting cold.”

“He’ll be here shortly; I told him we were having his favorite.”

“He picked up the phone when you called?” she asked with a shocked expression.

“Oh, no. I sent him a text message instead.”

“Signora, it’s three hours past dinner time, I don’t think he’s—”

“Don’t say it, Maria,” I interrupted her. “You’re allowed to think about it, but I don’t want to hear it. He’s coming.”

“Very well, Signora. I’ll be in my quarters if you need me,” she whispered and left the room before I could think of anything else to say.

Being left alone with my thoughts wasn’t doing me a lot of good. I could use Maria’s company, but I knew it was unfair to make her wait up for Rogerio. It might take a while before he’s home. His work kept him away, a little more than usual these days, but I couldn’t complain. He was doing his best to give us a comfortable life.

Rogerio was a man of many facets; a billionaire who owned gold mines off the coast of San Erring, an island he had inherited from his parents. He engaged in activities that raised questions about his character, but don’t we all have our secrets? Sometimes I tried to put myself in his shoes and understand his perspective. This was done in the hopes that it would give me some insight into how he views things and the reason for his actions.

It didn’t work, and for good cause. ‘We’re from different worlds,’ I muttered to myself and chuckled. There was no way I could understand what it takes to be him; Rogerio Thuthai. I was merely Charlotte. Charlotte Edwards. My thoughts shifted to the life I had lived all these years.

That’s all I’ve ever been, just Charlotte; the girl who had caught the eye of a billionaire mogul and pledged her undying love to him. That was the lie I told myself; I repeated it so much, I believed it more than the truth that stared me in the face. But lately, the foundation of my belief had started to crumble. He was coming home later than usual and spending less time with me.

“Perhaps, I need to do better,” I said to myself and picked up my phone to check the time. “Midnight,” I whispered and smiled wistfully.

I set it down and let my mind drift to a point in my life when I was happier and smiled sadly as the thoughts raced through my head. Shortly after, all I could hear was the constant rhythm of the grandfather clock in the hallway and then silence. My eyes closed on their own accord, and I slowly lowered my head and placed it on the table.

I felt something warm pooling beneath my face as I tried to make myself comfortable, but I was too drowsy to pay it any attention. Soon, I had drifted into a deep sleep, and the world around me faded into the distance. I had slipped into the same dream that had plagued me these past few weeks. I dreamt of Rogerio and me, but this time it was different. I was in the streets shouting his name as he walked away; he didn’t turn back, even when I begged him to stay with me.

A few moments later, the sound of doors being banged sent waves of shock throughout my body. I jolted from my current position and looked at the time in confusion. “4 am,” I muttered in confusion as cold liquid trickled down my left cheek.

The door opened instantly, and Rogerio stormed into the room with his suitcase in his hand. “Why do you look like that?” he asked as his eyes flashed with anger at the scene before him.

I looked around in confusion and realized that I had fallen asleep at the table. I lowered my gaze and stared at the table. My hair dripped with food particles from the plate which was positioned in front of me.

“I..." I stammered, raising my head to meet his gaze. “I was waiting for you.”

“Why? So you could give me cold food or that bowl you just dipped your head in?!” he yelled angrily, and I flinched at his tone.

I felt fear take over my body and swallow me as he walked towards me with slow, steady strides. When he stepped into the light, I could see his features better as he towered over me. His eyes were a brown pool that drew in anyone who looked into them, but this time, they exuded the rage he felt just by staring at me. My gaze shifted to his clothes and his hair; he was wearing his favorite three-piece suit with his hair slicked back into place.

I opened my mouth to say something, and he glared at me, then tossed a brown envelope on the table. I resisted the urge to whimper as he placed his hands on the table and turned his eyes back to my face. His expression had switched from mere rage to disgust, and the tension in the room was palpable. He opened his mouth, and his breath reeked of alcohol as he spoke.

I coughed a little as the smell hit me, and he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“You’re so useless! You’re falling asleep in your own food now? Why do I even need you here?!” he yelled, and I backed away.

The chair tilted slightly, threatening to fall, but I shifted it back into position to steady it.

“I… We had woken up early this morning to get ingredients to make your favorite meal and…”

“I don’t want to know how you spent your day, Charlotte, nor do I want to eat food that you’ve fallen asleep in! Can’t even do anything right!” he bellowed and stormed out of the room towards the front door.

I jumped to my feet and followed him. “Rogerio!” I shouted and winced as the sound of my voice resounded in the hall. “Roggie! Wait!”

He stopped in his tracks and spun around. His eyes shone with fury as he exhaled and stuffed his hands into his pocket. “Don’t ever call me that,” he uttered calmly.

The sudden switch in his tone left me feeling uneasy; I was used to his yelling. This sounded like something terrible was just around the corner. “I’m sorry, Rogerio… I”

“I don’t want to hear it! You know what? Wait right here,” he stated and he went back into the dining room.

A few seconds later, he stepped into the hall holding an envelope. I remembered it was the same one he had placed on the table.

“What’s... What’s that?" I inquired, wiping away the sauce that trickled from my hair to my shoulders.

“You’ll see," he sneered with a chuckle, tore it open, and then flung the envelope at me.

I looked at the papers that had landed at my feet and then back at him. He stood rooted in one spot, watching me with an unreadable expression. Slowly, I bent down and picked up the papers. My hands started to shake as my mind translated the words written boldly on them.

“What is this, Rogerio? Why am I holding divorce papers? Who are these for?”

“Surely, you can’t be that slow, Charlotte. They are for you. Us. We’re getting a divorce,” he grinned.

Time seemed to stop as the realization of his words hit me. I staggered backward a little as he continued speaking, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. All I could hear was a loud ringing in my ears and his last words on a loop.

“We’re not getting a divorce!” I yelled and tore the papers in two. “We are in a relationship, Rogerio. I love you, and we should be working on the marriage, not chickening out of it.”

He blinked and chuckled as a shocked expression crossed his face. “I’ve always known you were a crazy woman. We’re done. I want nothing to do with you, and fortunately, I have a copy of those papers. All signed. I’ll keep sending them to you until you sign them. And look in the mirror for a moment,” he responded, pointing to the mirror positioned on the wall behind me.

“Would you want to be in a relationship with yourself?” he demanded and he walked out of the door.

I stood in that position for a few minutes, paralyzed with shock, and slowly turned to catch my reflection in the mirror. I saw my physical state and broke into tears as the shredded papers fell to the ground.