Soup is good for the soul

She gently mops up the sweat from the man's brow with a damp towel. With the utmost care she traces the towel down his neck and across his chest. He coughs, blood bubbling up over his lips as he spasms. With soft shushing sounds, she dips the towel in the bowl of cold water on the nightstand and after wringing it out she continues wiping him down and cleaning his mouth. As the coughing spasms subside, she sets down the towel and lifts a glass of water to his lips.

She adjusts his blankets and he weakly gasps for air after his coughing fit. Kissing his forehead, she whispers against his skin “it's about time for lunch my love. Let me go make something for you.” she hums as she slowly stands from her chair and crosses the room to the door and down a flight of squeaky worn stairs.

She ties up her long brown hair into a messy ponytail on top of her head and rolls up her sleeves. Tying an apron around her waist, she begins to assemble various veggies onto her cutting board. She reached across the counter and turned on the old radio to the local rock station and began making her husband his soup.

Once everything is prepared, she reaches overhead into the cabinet and grabs her husband's medication to go along with his lunch. She places the bowl of hot soup on a tray along with some water and the medication and slowly takes it back upstairs. Setting the tray on the nightstand, she gets a spoonful of the hot soup and blows on it to cool it off.

“What do you think about me telling you a story as you eat, dearest?” she asks him while gently bringing the spoon to his lips. She sets the spoon in the bowl temporarily to brush back a lock of his hair off his sweating forehead before she begins the process of cooling down his soup and feeding him again.

“Once upon a time, many years ago, there were two sisters. The older of the two sisters was quiet and reserved. The younger of the two was more vibrant and easily the prettier of the two. They got along wonderfully for a while before life did what life does and they drifted apart. They had different friend groups and different priorities. They went to different kinds of colleges and fell in love with different kinds of men. The older sister decided to become a librarian while the younger sister went to art school. They, to each their own right, had beautiful lives. The younger sister eventually fell in love with the man she would soon wed and it was wonderful. She was so happy she thought her heart would burst every single day. They danced in the rain and ate charcuterie boards in front of a roaring fireplace. They sang while they made meals together. They took turns washing each others hair in the shower. Everything was warm and beautiful and filled to the brim with love. Until one day it wasn’t.”

Looking into his eyes for the first time since she started telling her story, she noticed the furrowing of his brow. “You might have heard this before. It could be why it must seem so familiar. I’ve been wanting to tell you this story for a good long while but I guess I just never found the time. It’s almost done though so just listen for a little while more.”

She set the empty bowl of soup down and picked up his medication. “It’s time to take your meds sweet husband.” Slowly she dropped them into the glass of water and tipped it towards his waiting lips.

“Where was I again?? Oh yes. The younger sister believed she had found the love of her life. Over time though her husband began to be more and more critical of her. He had things to say constantly about her friends, her art, how she dressed, the movies she watched, what kind of music she listened to. Nothing was above reproach for him when it came to how perfect he wanted their life to seem. It didn’t start out with violence because, lets be honest, it never does does it. It eventually got violent though. She began hiding her bruises and wearing more makeup. She kept a journal of everything that happened to her and how scared she was. Eventually she reached out to her older sister for help, but before her sister could get to her she was gone. She had completely disappeared.”

A quiet whimper escaped the man's throat. It was slightly hoarse and reedy like he hadn’t spoken or used his voice in a long time. His eyes dart back and forth searching for anything that could help him. The smell of urine permeated the room as he soiled himself. His hands clutch at his blankets and spasms rock his body. With a soft smile, she continues.

“I don’t know if my sister ever made it away from you with her life intact. I know the police are sure you had something to do with her disappearance, but I guess clever you made sure they wouldn’t find any evidence of what you’ve done to her. I know you did something to her and I would greatly appreciate it if you told me where she is. I cant promise that it will save you but it might ease your conscience before you pass.”

“Men are awfully trusting creatures. All I needed to do was have a pretty face and seem interested in you and you ate everything I put in front of you. I'm guessing now you can see that wasn't exactly the smartest choice but it's definitely a choice that was made. All I want to know is where my sister is.”

A wheeze emitted from the man. She leaned down closer to hear what he was trying to say. “Laaaake”, he strained in a croak barely above a whisper. The abject terror is evident in his eyes as he comprehends the finality of what she is saying to him.

With a sigh, she kisses his forehead, closes her eyes and whispers “Thank you”. She gracefully gets up from her chair as his wheezes become fewer and fewer between. She takes the tray with the empty bowl and glass downstairs and sets them on the sink. With one final turn around the kitchen, she walks through the house, out the front door for the last time.