Housewife
: Chapter 1

The air hung thick with the bittersweet scent of mourning as I scanned the somber faces surrounding me. Viktor, the man we all gathered to bid farewell to, had been a shadowy figure in life. Yet in death, he was elevated to saint-like status, as if we mourned the loss of a hero rather than a wretched soul.

As I observed the dark parade of mourners, tears streaming down their faces, my own soul stirred with a twisted sense of satisfaction. There was something satisfying in watching a man like Viktor finally pay for his sins.

Though no one deserves to die, Viktor’s death was different – he had earned every ounce of the slow, painful end I had inflicted upon him.

I took solace in the fact that, at least for today, the world had one less monster roaming its shadows.

On what should have been a somber and dreary day cloaked in sorrow, the sun was radiant and the sky was a brilliant shade of blue. Nature was alive with the sweet sound of songbirds and the hum of busy bees, as though blatantly rejoicing the loss of someone who had caused them so much distress.

On one side, my uncles sat stoic, their faces as unyielding as stone. No hint of sadness graced their scowls — only a fierce resentment smouldered in their eyes. They were furious that Viktor was gone.

I sensed their bewilderment at how a man with no organ medical issues could suffer a fatal heart attack. However, unlike my uncles, I could hardly conceal my happiness. I sobered myself up for appearances, allowing tears to spill down my cheeks, masking my true feelings. As a grieving widow, I’m forced to put on a façade of sadness – one that would fool even my own uncles. Despite knowing the truth about Viktor’s abusive behaviour, they chose to overlook it and leave me to suffer in silence. I was all alone, with no one to turn to for help.

But I refused to let them see me break. In a moment of suspicion, my uncle Krzysztof caught my stare, but I remained stoic, unwilling to reveal my true emotions. The cries of the mourners only added to the already heavy atmosphere, and I couldn’t wait for this funeral to be over – so I could finally start picking up the pieces of my shattered life.

The priest declared his completion and called for others to deliver their speeches.

Originally, Viktor’s parents were meant to speak, but since they have passed away and he has no siblings, he only has distant cousins and extended family to rely on. I was chosen to speak for him as his wife.

As I stood up, I felt the weight of his absence settle on my shoulders like a leaden cloak. With trembling hands, I smoothed down the sleek silk of my black dress and made my way to the stage. All eyes were on me, their expressions ranging from sympathy to curiosity. I took hold of the microphone, my nerves thrumming like a live wire.

Gazing out at the sea of faces, I was struck by a sense of deja vu – it was the same crowd that had gathered to witness Viktor and I exchange our vows.

But this time, it wasn’t a joyful celebration, but a mournful farewell. My voice wavered as I began to speak.

‘Viktor will be missed,’ I said, my words catching in my throat as I struggled to contain my false emotions.

He will in fact not be missed.

‘The loss of a spouse is like no other,’ I say, my voice trailing off into the silence. The truth of those words wash over me, but I don’t feel sadness or heartache. Instead, I feel freedom. ‘It changes everything,’ I continue, relishing the delicious thrill of it all. ‘My habits, my confidence, my very sense of self. Viktor’s death transformed me.’

If they only knew the weight of my words.

‘I wish I could see you one more time,’ I whisper, biding my time. Because when I do see you again, it will be to witness the beautiful way you’ll wither and die again.

‘I…’ I choke out, my voice quivering and tears beginning to spill down my cheeks, as though they were the embodiment of the anger and hatred I feel for Viktor.

The priest comes to my side, leading me away from the spotlight and allowing me to take a seat next to my uncle. The room is filled with a suffocating silence, and my heart pounds incessantly against my chest. But I refuse to let my facade drop, staring boldly back at those around me.

Finally, as the funeral ceremony continues, it is time to bury the one who has caused me so much pain. We all file out of the room, quiet and solemn, following the coffin out into the warm, beautiful outdoors.

As we take each step closer to his final resting place, my heart dances with glee. The solemn guests form a semicircle around the grave, their heads hung low and tears shed.

The air is heavy with grief as if the very ground beneath us is mourning.

Black attires adorn family and friends alike, with some clutching flowers they lay down gently in front of the headstone. The pastor’s chime of a church bell somewhere in the distance is heard, echoing across the graveyard to signal the arrival of six o’clock. Its mournful tune only adds to the gravity of the situation.

I stand in silent watch as his casket is buried six feet under, a small smile playing at the corner of my lips. The twisted satisfaction runs through me like a drug, a euphoria that I never thought was possible. Who knew that watching someone being buried could bring such blissful joy?

As I stood by my late husband’s grave, some individuals approached me with sympathy in their eyes, offering their condolences and sharing their own petty woes. They tried to empathize with the agony I was experiencing, but their words felt hollow and insincere. However, what they failed to realize was that their actions after offering their condolences spoke volumes.

Walking away, they carelessly passed by the other graves as if they were meaningless, just another pile of dirt.

For a while, I stood there alone, gazing at the tombstone with a mix of emotions in my heart. And as much as I wish I could say that I felt grief for my loss, I cannot deny that the overwhelming feeling of hatred towards my late husband consumed me. I despise him with every fiber of my being for the pain and destruction he had caused in my life. Perhaps, the only solace I can find at this moment is wishing the same suffering on those who possess the same rotten spirit and mindset as Viktor.

My entire existence has been a futile attempt to appease men like him, inflicted with a twisted and unyielding ailment. I discarded my own identity, submitted my soul, and beseeched for their approval.

They never apologized for hurting me. He never apologized for hurting me, but I apologized to them dozens of times for being angry about it.

I firmly believe that taking your life was a necessity, Viktor. I simply couldn’t imagine surviving another year of your merciless assault, hidden from the sight of my own kin. How much more heartbreak could I sustain, five, ten, twenty more years of constant soul-shattering? The weariness of it had become too much to bear.

I had to do it – I had to save myself.

After what you’ve done to me.

You deserve to burn in eternal hell.

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