Picture Book

I'm flipping pages. Flipping and fliping and flipping. Then one stops me. It's recognition that hits me actually.
What's her picture doing in his diary?
I remember that dress, then that night...
Recognition pokes me in the chest again. Her legs are spread wide. And her lips have that bright smile.
'Slit' I mutter under my breath, my heart burning underneath my skin.
I scan the writings on the page I found the the picture. I scan and scan, and read past a lot of words until I get it.
No! It gets me actually.
This was what he wanted me to see? To read to him? To swear to keep?
Guilt stabs at me. Guilt at thinking he would ever cheat on me. Even if he did, I well do deserve it, but he didn't even
On death bed, he still wanted to help.  He has always wanted to help, all his life, all his sad little life.
"What took you so long,  Beetle" He's asking as I sit with the diary in hand. He has that youthly smile. The one that got me that first night. The night he had asked "would you mind some trouble?" I'd chucked, not at what he said  more at how he had said it, and that smile.
"You look too peaceful, I'll like to intrude." I had laughed then.
He still has that charm. I smiled back at him. "You wanted me to see this? The girl you were talking to at our party? I'm asking as I take out the picture for him to see. He smiles a weak smile, that meant yes.
"It's fine. I understand. I've read this" I'm saying, opening the diary.
Then it's a blur, or I think it is, because everything starts to 'slow motion'. He's coughing really hard now and grasping my hand and his private nurse is rushing in to check. Then he's saying
     "No Seyi! No!  She's my daughter. Take care of her."
He keeps saying it. It's like I'm watching a movie and that part was cropped to keep repeating itself.
    "Check the picture book. I love you."
The thing is, we have a lot of picture books. His actually.
He keeps a lot of past in pictures. I never bothered to go through them, even though he always wanted me to. Sometimes I had thought he was being forceful. That he was trying to hint me on something in those pictures.
After the ambulance had wheeled him to the hospital, I was  mess. I took his best car, the one I had never let myself ride, only be ridden in; chasing after them. I had the headlights on even though it was 11:00am and my taillights kept blinking simultaneously.
He was dead by the time we reached hospital grounds. I just sat in the car, and let the tears stream down my face. I didn't even know why I was crying. Yes, my husband was dead, but that wasn't it. I guess it was the guilt that I contributed to his death. I never did let him or let myself. My dreams were stronger or maybe I just let them be stronger.
I'm reading the picture book now. Yes!  Paul writes beneath each of the pictures to tell you about it. Maybe he knew this day would come, and he would not be here to explain the scenes, the people or the situations. From school life to mission work, he was so lively, yet withdrawn in each of the pictures, he seemed to have that ridiculous smile that asked 'why?' 'what?' Paula was the answer.
He found her during missions.  And adopted her, and lost her, because of me. Because he was scared I would never accept the 10 year old who was now 19.
Yes she was a slit.  He wanted the best for her. She was his answer. Hers was the last picture in the book.  The one he took out for me to see in his diary. That's what happens with a child never loved.

It's her wedding. She's smiling and crying and hugging me so tight.
    "I love you mum. A lot changed because of you."
The fine man that's now her husband stands beside her, smiling Paul's smile and then I start to wish Paul was still alive to see how much changes when love comes to play.
Love is a double edged sword. It hits both the giver and the reciever. Paul's love hit me in many ways.  I'm sure that's why I'm a lot changed now. And his love was what held him up that long. He could have died long time before then.
I keep picture books now and have labels written underneath, so others can read them and be able to interpret them even when I'm not there to tell the scenes, the people or the situation in them.
I'm 90 in my death bed.
   "Check the picture book" I'm saying to my grand kids, from Paula. "There's a lot of love in there for you.  I love you"

From Sleek Revealtor: Thanks for reading this story till the end. If you liked it,  share with someone who would too, and please do comment in the comment section. Do you think love changes everything? Do you have an experience of that? Please share. Thank you again.