Things which are damaged never really get repaired. Jasmina meditates on this as her husband speaks, knowing that what he broke between them will never heal. He struck her. That is enough, for her, to consider their relationship damaged beyond repair.

She doesn’t really listen to him. His words don’t matter, because she’ll never forget walking up to him last night, late in the evening, and asking him to come to bed. He sat in the dark, face illuminated by the television and by his phone, and, as casually as though he had done it hundreds of times before, struck her with a firm backhand.

A joint, dislocated, will never function quite as well as it did before. A wound, scarred over, forever mars its location, though the thick replacement flesh protects ones insides from the outside world. A wooden bowl, marked by the careless placement of a metal fork, will never, ever find the flawless perfection of the first few minutes after its creation.

Jasmina knew that her husband’s previous wife left him. She never spoke to the woman, at his request, so she never knew why. Now she knows, and the thoughts of how he might have treated her, and how he might treat Jasmina, should she remain with him, will never leave her. His blow left no lasting impression on her face, but it has cracked the foundations of her love for him, and every positive feeling she once felt for him has drained out through that fatal flaw, leaving her empty.

He is apologizing. It is not enough. He has tried to explain. It was not enough. Nothing will ever be enough, because she knows that things that are made imperfect shall never become perfect again. He has been damaged, somewhere along in his past. She’ll never be able to repair him.

<And so, ignoring his pleas, Jasmina leaves.

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