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Forty-Six
Aoife
I staredat the loaves of bread in front of me.
Golden brown, pillowy. The tops so beautifully curved that they were like cartoon drawings.
They were my olive branch.
Finn loved my bread.
I didn’t make it for him so much anymore, but I knew he’d see them and would know what I was thinking.
This was not forgiveness.
This was not me forgetting what had happened.
This was me saying that I wanted to take a step forward. That I wanted his hand in mine as I did so.
Forgiveness would take time, and letting my resentment die would as well, but I didn’t want to do any of this without him. Didn’t want to wake up tomorrow without him in my bed like I’d done this morning. Didn’t want to go to sleep without him at my side.
And that was what divorce would mean.
An empty bed.
One set of silverware at the table for dinner.
One plate in the dishwasher.
No hand to hold as I watched TV.
And it wasn’t just that I’d be alone. It was that the other set of silverware, that the hand I should be holding, belonged to Finn.
My Finn.
Finn and Aoife, that was us.
We were a team.
We were a team.
I twisted away from the counter, leaving the loaves to their pristine perfection. But as I did, I stared at the space where I’d collapsed.
Where my blood had pooled.
I could remember Jake twining my hair with Jen’s as she sobbed and tried to help me.
I could remember the pain of my baby dying.
And even more recently, I felt the anger and the hate that had seen me raise a hand to my husband. Again.
Needing to escape, I stepped out into the hall, but as I walked away from those memories, I dove deep into some new ones.
Sobbing on the floor as Lena comforted me, the news my baby was malformed a lead weight in my heart.
Watching Lena scurry away at my request that she leave my home, her telling me our friendship was atonement before I hurled a vase at her.
I stepped into the living room where, years before, I’d seen Aidan Sr. torturing one of his business associates—that had happened the very first day I’d met Finn.
