My husband used to say that I had a white heart. Where he comes from that means that you are a good person, who is kind-hearted. He would tell me this almost every day. You have a white heart habipti, wallah.
He even bought me one on a chain to wear around my neck. I woke up one morning and there was a little box sitting on the bedside cabinet with the white heart inside. I wore it every day.I wore it over the one that was beating furiously, for him, in my chest.
I was wearing it the day he broke my real one.
I wore it on the plane journey home and played with it between my fingers for the entire journey. Underneath it was my own heart breaking and under that my unborn baby's heart was also beating away, oblivious.
When I got home I took it off and placed it in a box, along with my wedding ring, and I cried.
Inside me, though, my heart it still white. But, it is not the white of the pure-hearted. My heart that was once so red, beating with passion and life is now just a little bit colder, just a little bit harder and just a little bit more cynical.
It still turns red and swells with love, however, when I look at my daughter and I know that one day, hopefully, someone will warm it up permanently - you see, my heart may have been broken but I am not.
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