I was standing at the door waiting. It was dark outside and the children had gone to sleep. They were eager to see him but he had been late. They missed school in the morning because he was to arrive. They did not go playing in the afternoon because he was to arrive. They did not want to sleep because he was to arrive. I had to drag them to the bed. They looked beautiful in sleep. Their small bodies next to each other. Their pale faces glowing with the orange hue of the burning lantern. Their rhythmic breathing was reassuring. I would soon be lying beside them if he did not come. If he did I would go to the neighbour's empty shack with him.
In my shack there was only one bed and it was not a bed. It was heap of old clothes. It worked as a mattress though it did not resemble one.
It had been this way since he left us. I had seen better days when we had a wooden divan. I had given myself to him on it. It was solid oak. He had told me his love for me was solid as that. I was not surprised that it broke when he left me. That was 3 years ago. He had stayed till I had my third daughter and then he moved to the city. I did not blame him.
I was tired myself. I had spent the whole day on the door because he was to arrive. I wanted to sit down but that would have messed up my red saree. It was the best I had. He loved the colour. I had saved it for him to see. I cried every time i saw it in the trunk.