She needed so many things done in the house but didn't walk out of the door to go earn the money herself, he always thought. That stressed him lots.

Gosh, that’s all history. We all sinners before the Lord but the important thing is to realize the wrong and right it, he vowed to himself. It’s never too late.  Let me not be judged by history, but by my present.

From whence, I swear to you good Lord, I won’t be violent to my wife ever again.

His wife was as quiet as a mule and everyone who knew her always remarked that he was blessed to have such a good wife, in this day, in these foreign lands.

This very night I will show her all the love, appreciation and support I neglected for years. I will be good to my kids. Come next pay, I swear, I will buy them the Halloween customes they always pestered me for. I promise this, he insisted to himself.

He wasn’t sure from where this catalytic remorse emanated from but it felt good, self-generated. Like a new beginning, a fresh direction, an entire rebirth. Some catharsis, alchemy.  

Look, nations use guns to gain peace. Cities use coercive power to maintain social order, he reasoned. In the end there is always peace, negotiation, new vision, change. I’m a nationality, part of a community that jails murderers to redeem them.

Where there is a will there’s a way.

I’m different now, oh yeah I am, he muttered triumphantly making up the last step into his third floor apartment.

He burst into the house. Usually his wife would be terrified, because that’s when the beatings would start if she said something he didn’t like. He hated it when she sat there watching television into the night without serving him his late dinner.

I’m the father of this house who work himself to death everyday lifting tonnes of Oxford dictionaries shipping to Africa, Asia and South America, to keep the family fed.  So why is it a big deal just warming and bringing the food to this tired man trying to make a living? He didn’t get it.

Anyways, that’s all history, he reassured himself.  

The television was still on. His daughter’s red balloon flustered on the floor as he made towards the bathroom.

Today I will warm the food myself and serve it to myself. She would like this. I won’t bother her anymore.

Gosh, it feels so good to willfully change oneself. He laughed again. My wife, kids, parents or even the intrusive pastor who sometimes showed up at the home without notice would all chorus in praise of this new man.

Bubbling and inspired, he warmed and ate his dinner. It was odd she didn’t come out, not that he wanted her to serve him anymore. He washed the dishes, cleaned the place, for the first time since she moved in with him from Africa.

She will sure be pleasantly surprised to notice the sudden changes, already. This will ultimately wash away all his past false promises.

He slothfully entered the bedroom. It was still.

“Rudo” he called gently. No response. He repeated, getting nearer.  He shook her gruffly, calling her name again and again. Nothing.  He looked closer. Her eyes were half open, but frozen. Her mouth, still swollen from the last harrowing beating, was arched as if forcing a smile.

“Rudo!” he shouted shaking her frantically. She was stiff, cold and breathless.