Every other time I'd seen him do something this extreme, I would rush over with tears in my eyes, pull his hands away, hold him tight, and tell him:
It's not your fault. You're just sick.
But now, I only watched. Still and silent.
Memories from the past two years surfaced unbidden.
Caspar in the grip of an "episode," slashing me with a knife, trying to tear my face apart.
Mistaking some strange woman for me, then turning around and beating me with his fists.
But every time he "came to," he would hold me and sob, apologizing through his tears.
"Maud, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Just wait a little longer. I'll get better."
I believed him. Again and again. I forgave him ninety-nine times.
I traveled to every remote temple and holy site I could find, dropping to my knees every three steps, not caring when they bled raw.
I tried every folk remedy under the sun, forcing down concoctions that made me retch until my throat burned.
I canceled every social engagement, stayed by his side day and night, terrified something would happen to him.
I thought sincerity could earn sincerity in return. I thought that one day, he would finally get better.
But what I got in return was him and my best friend, tangled together in our marriage bed.
And worse.
Even the illness had been an act.
Caspar choked down the fistful of pills, struggling to swallow. He failed, gagging, and broke into a fit of coughing.
"Maud, I'm trying so hard to take my medicine. I promise I'll get better soon..."
"I swear, once I'm better, I'll stay right by your side. I'll never see another woman again!"
I lowered my gaze and tugged at the corner of my lips.
Caspar had made that same promise countless times before. He'd even locked himself in his room once, refusing to let himself see other women.
I shook my head with regret.
Slowly, I reached into my bag and pulled out the neatly folded document, setting it gently on the nightstand.
"Caspar, I'm tired."
"This is the hundredth time. I don't want to keep doing this."
"Let's get a divorce."
His gaze drifted down to the words printed across the divorce agreement. Then his head snapped up.
His eyes were full of hurt and disbelief.
"What? Maud, why would you want a divorce?"
He scrambled toward me across the bed, desperate.
"Maud, please don't give up on me."
"We've made it through two years together. We've survived so much already. We're so close to the finish line."