I Attempted Suicide…

IT was a rainy evening. I checked on my children--Denise, 12 years old, and Danny, 7--in their room. I kissed them and said goodbye. I hurriedly went to my room, locking the door. I went to the bathroom. There, I got my husband’s shaver and used the blades to slash my wrists.

I am Coline. I’m a 32-year-old wife to an architect, 42, and mother of two. We lived in one of the exclusive subdivisions in Quezon City. I was also running the restaurant business that my parents gave me. So imagine the life I had--beautiful children, a mansion that my husband built,        a successful business.

I married Anthony when           I was 19, following my parents’ will. Anthony was a good provider and a good father, but not a good husband.

God knows I tried to love my husband, but I just couldn’t. That’s because he really didn’t love me. He was all but 22 and still needed to taste the good life. He hardly came home to be with me and the children. I hired an agent to know his whereabouts and the agent gave me a report that was to change my charmed life into a nightmare. The agent showed me pictures--evidences that my husband kept two mistresses in condo units, one in Makati, and another one in Quezon City. One of the women, the one in Quezon City, was pregnant. 

I kept my silence for years for the sake of our children. I didn’t want them to suffer the stigma of a broken home. I focused on my restaurant business to take my mind off my miseries.

Then, Rocky came into my life. I met Rocky in one of those parties of restaurateurs. At the time, my chef resigned and so I was looking for a good chef for my restaurant. At the party, Cara, a business colleague, introduced Rocky to me.

“He’s brilliant,” Cara said. “But I can’t afford his fees so you can have him.”

And he’s such a hunk, I thought, as Rocky firmly shook my hands and said, “Hi, nice to meet you.”

I handed Rocky my calling card and asked him to come for an interview the following Monday.

 Rocky came to the restaurant Monday morning. Instead of asking him too many questions, I asked him to cook a dish for me. He grilled some prawns, arranged them on a platter, with carrots and potatoes as side dishes, coupled with a secret dip--so mouthwatering I hired him right on the spot.

Rocky was tall, handsome, dressed neatly like a chef should, didn’t drink--except for some wine--didn’t smoke. And a skilled chef. He was the best chef I ever had. He was not as rich as my husband--that’s why he needed to work. But unlike Anthony, Rocky was kind to me. Okay, he flattered me, made me feel like--corny as it may sound--a princess.

Eventually, I fell for Rocky even though I promised myself not to. I knew it was wrong to have a relationship with him, but what could I do? He was sweet, I was lonely, I needed a shoulder to lean on. And yes, I must confess, I needed to get even with my philandering husband.

At the restaurant, Rocky and I had a boss-employee relationship, but outside, we were lovers--passionate as passionate can be.

We met in a hotel in the outskirts of the metropolis and there, we made love over and over again. But happy as I was to be with Rocky, I knew I had to end our relationship.

One day, Rocky and I celebrated his birthday at his condo. There, we made love again. I went home late. Anthony was waiting for me in our bedroom. I approached him to kiss him, but he slapped me.

“Slut!” he cussed. “This Rocky was just your employee, you whore!”

  He punched me on the stomach, so hard I fell on the floor.

 He told me an employee I recently dismissed texted him about Rocky and me. That night, Anthony followed me as I met up with Rocky in his condo. 

Anthony slapped me again and then went out of the room. I heard him start his car and drive away.

I knew then that was the end of everything for me. The end of my relationship with Rocky. The end of my marriage. The end of my beautiful life with my children. The end of my business and my career.

I loathed myself for being such a fool. Gripped with pain and shame, I bid my children goodbye and then there was nothing more for me to do but to end my life.  

But I did not die. I woke up in the Intensive Care Unit of a hospital, feeling pain in my bandaged wrists. There was a commotion in the room, the nurses running into the room, followed by a couple of doctors.

“Mrs., you’ve been in a coma for three days,” the doctor told me gently. “We are just so happy you’re back!”

After checking me and giving me medication to stabilize my condition, the nurses and doctors left. Then my parents came in, my dad biting his lips apparently to suppress tears, my mom crying uncontrollably.

“Coline, we love you, we love you,” was all my mom could say.

Then, my children came in, crying, too, and hugging and kissing me.

“My babies, I am so sorry,” I said.

“Mommy, mommy,” they cried.

My parents told me that that fateful night, I attempted suicide, it was Anthony who found me unconscious in the bathroom, my wrists bleeding. Apparently, he just drove around our villa then went right back to our house. Had he not come back, I would have bled to death. He brought me to the hospital. 

I stayed in the hospital for another week. Throughout those seven days, I didn’t see Anthony. I was told Rocky wanted to see me, but I told the nurse I did not want visitors except my parents and children.

I am now living temporarily with my parents. My children are with Anthony, but he has allowed my parents to pick them up on weekends so I could see them.

I talked with Rocky on the phone and told him it was over. It was all over for us.

I don’t know if Anthony and I will ever forgive each other… if I could ever have my family back together again. Right now, I am just working on me--how I will ever forgive myself, accept myself, and make the most of my second life.