**”Marina, you cant leave me! What am I supposed to do without you?”**
**”The same thing you always dodrink from morning till night!”**
I slammed the front door shut, collapsing into the driver’s seat and dissolving into helpless tears. How had it come to this? A year ago, our family had been the picture of happinessenvied, admired. But envy was inevitable. That was just how the world worked.
****
**”Marissa, hurry up, get Oliver readyIve got a surprise for you both! And dont forget warm clothes!”**
My husband, Nicholasor “Nick” as I teasingly called himloved surprises. This time, he whisked us away to the countryside for a snowmobile ride. His colleague had recently bought a cottage an hour outside London. A cottage? More like a medieval castle, complete with turrets and a stone wall that could hardly be called a fence.
**”Well? What do you think?”** Nick asked, watching my stunned expression.
**”Theres something about this place it gives me chills.”**
**”Youre just cold. Come insideyou havent seen the fireplace yet.”**
The inside was worse than the outside. But the men loved it, and I didnt argue. No point debating taste.
I hated the faux animal heads mounted on the roughly plastered walls. Nick insisted they were replicas, but that didnt make them less grotesque. Yet he and Oliver devoured grilled meat under the gaping jaws of a boar, while our son brandished a toy sword, battling imaginary monsters. I kept my eyes fixed on the fire, trying to ignore the creeping dread.
Maybe that day etched itself in dark tones because it was the last of our old life. Later, the cottage owner would roll out two snowmobilesone of which would take Olivers life. Nick, at the helm, would drown in guilt, losing himself in bottles.
I dont know why I held on when he couldnt. The pain was unbearable, a constant companion. But I refused to let it consume me. People saw my face and assumed I was fine. They had no idea.
Sometimes I wanted to join Nick, to numb the pain with drink. But I knew it would only make things worse. Drunkenness magnified emotion, and emotion was our enemyanger, resentment, bitterness. Nick hid behind them like a tortoise in its shell, refusing to come out.
I hadnt planned to leave him. I just needed air. I drove aimlessly, stopping at petrol stations, drinking coffee in roadside cafés. Once, I even checked into a hotel just to sleep.
My mind was blank. I wasnt running *to* anythingjust *away*. I dont remember when I turned off the motorway, but eventually, the road led me to a sleepy little town. I parked near a square and sat motionless.
**”Miss, youll freeze,”** came a voice at my window.
A group of teenagers passed by, and I was surprised by their concernuntil I saw the elderly woman walking her dog, a fluffy white poodle as pristine as the snow.
For some reason, I got out and approached her.
**”Youve been sitting there so long with the engine offI worried something was wrong.”**
**”Something is,”** I whispered.
Funny how its easier to bare your soul to a stranger. Maybe because they dont dig through your past, searching for faults that justify your suffering.
Before I knew it, I was sitting in a cosy kitchen with blue-checked curtains, clutching a steaming cup of chamomile tea, tears soaking a crumpled tissue.
**”Marissa, Ive made up the sofa for you. Rest, then carry on to wherever youre going.”**
**”Alright,”** I muttered, too exhausted to argue.
That morning, I woke with a smile for the first time in months. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, a clock ticked softly, and a rough tongue licked my nose.
**”Gus,”** I recalled the poodles name. He grinned, his face a picture of canine joy.
I laugheda real laugh.
**”Gus, leave the poor girl alone. Especially before breakfast.”**
The womanAunt Roseentered with a tray. The smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon rolls filled the air.
**”Bakings my insomnia cure,”** she said. **”Today, it worked in your favour. Now, eat. But dont praise them out loudpastry prefers silent admiration.”**
I took a bite and nearly wept. Nick used to bring me breakfast in bed, joking that he feared a hungry wife. Hed pile sandwiches, yoghurt, even pickled herring onto a tray.
The memory made me smile instead of achelike surfacing from a dive into happier days. Funny how a cinnamon roll could lift the weight of grief.
I didnt apologize for intruding. It wouldve insulted her.
Later, I woke at dusk. Gus snoozed beside me, radiating warmth. I hadnt slept so deeply in years.
**”Oh God, what time is it?”** I bolted up. The house was silent, dim. **”Ive lost my mindsleeping a full day in a strangers home!”**
Gus blinked at me.
The room didnt match Aunt Rose. Posters covered the walls, dumbbells lay by the window, and a cluttered desk bore a framed phototwo young men in uniform.
The front door opened. **”Sleepyheads! Dinners ready!”**
I met her in the hallway. **”Im so sorryI dont know what came over me.”**
**”Sleep heals. Now, eat. I bought cakewe deserve a little celebration.”**
My stomach growled in agreement.
Over rabbit stew, Aunt Rose shared her story.
**”Ive lived alone thirty years. I lost my son, tooolder than yours. My husband and I drifted apart, divorced. He drank himself to death. I nearly followed, but an old woman told me I had to liveto earn the right to see my boy again. The pain changedbecame lighter, almost sweet. Like a reminder of love, not loss.”**
I didnt want to leave. It felt like homethe dog, the geraniums, the floral wallpaper.
The next morning, a knock startled us.
Nick stood in the doorway, scowling. **”No lover, then.”**
**”What?”**
**”I thought youd run off with someone. Tracked your phone to this backwater.”**
Aunt Rose chuckled. **”Pancakes and pickled mushroomsproper food, not city rubbish.”**
Nick devoured fifteen pancakes while I explained.
**”After you left, I smashed a bottle. Woke up terrifiedrealised if I lost you too, I was done. Then I found you here.”**
We stayed two more days, wandering the quaint town of Hawksbury, laughing like newlyweds.
Returning home, I braced for the old pain. But Nicks grip on my hand was steady.
**”Well replace the rug,”** he said, eyeing the cognac stain.
**”Or keep itlike Aunt Rose keeps her sons weights and posters.”**
For the first time, we cleared Olivers room without tears. We packed toys for donation, left keepsakes.
That night, we talked openly. Nick admitted the accident wasnt his faultno more than a hare darting into the snowmobiles path.
I fell asleep in his arms. At dawn, I woke to coffee in bed.
**”Share?”** I mumbled.
**”Always,”** he smiled.
****
Nine months later, Olivers sister was bornlikely conceived that night. Id hesitated to tell Nick, seeking Aunt Roses advice.
**”Im pregnant,”** I blurted one morning.
He kissed me, his hands warm on my belly. No words needed.
We skipped the seaside that summer, visiting Hawksbury instead. Aunt Rose had accepted her suitorthe rabbit farmerand we attended their August wedding.
Life wasnt perfect. But it was healing. And sometimes, that was enough.
