This morning, as I tweeted just a few moments ago, I cried for the third, fourth and fifth times of my adult life. My wife saw me cry for the first time ever. My friend – whom I’ve known for about five months, but never met, and whose beautiful face I only saw for the first time last night – is determinedly headed to her death.
She has no illusions – mostly. Occasionally, she fantasizes that by returning to her husband, she can prevent some other unfortunate young girl from being sadistically tortured by him, as she has been, now, for years. Or that by allowing her husband to torture and kill her, she will somehow save her parents whom, inexplicably, she loves. (They have never shown her anything akin to what any reader of this blog would recognize as love.)
There remain a few hours during which she could reverse course, could decide to stay where she is, or go elsewhere. I still have the tiniest bit of hope.
As a wise woman I know says, the world is made badly.