Prologue

No matter how often people talk about the volatility of happiness or just how easy it is for everything fought for to be ripped away from us, humans are innately arrogant. We all bask in our own happiness and never allow ourselves to think that the horrible things we hear about could happen to us. We’re never prepared for when it does. I’ve always wondered if it’s a blessing or a curse to be ignorant of the fact that the last interaction you have with someone will truly be the last. Would having that knowledge lessen the genuineness of the interaction? Or would it make the interaction more sincere to know that this was the last opportunity to say everything one needed to say? People say that ignorance is bliss. But sometimes it isn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~

   “Go, Lyra,” I cheer as she takes step after wobbly step.
   “Just a few more steps, baby girl!” Morris shouts.
   I stare at the image in front of me—a milestone for both—only two completely different paths of growth. “Yay! You did it!” He scoops her up gleefully, tossing her into the air and catching her.
    “Did you see that, Marion?”
   “Of course I saw it,” I chuckle.
   “Gosh, it’s so hard to believe she’s already this big. How is it possible? It feels like just yesterday we were gathered around the bathroom counter, staring at the pregnancy test.”
   “Yeah, that was a lifetime ago.” I grab my white coat from the rack by the door and fluff the collar as I sling my purse over my shoulder.
   “Off to save more lives?” Morris asks as he sits Lyra on the floor.
   “More like off to bring more lives into the world. I’d rather not have any near calls to save anyone from.” I peck my lips against his quickly and squat down to Lyra. “Be good for Daddy. Momma will be back soon.”
   “She’s always good. Aren’t you, baby?” He scoops her up, waving her arm up and down. “She’s my best girl.” I roll my eyes and swing the door open, rushing to make up for the time I spent on the floor. “She has you completely wrapped around her chubby little fingers, you know that, right?”
   “Absolutely not. She knows who’s in charge around here.” He sterns his tone and furrows his eyebrows.
   “Sure… sure she does. You’re going to be in so much trouble when she’s older.”
   “More like she will be trouble. I’m sure of it.”
   “Oh, I have no doubt. I better get going before I’m late. I’ll see you tonight. Love you.”
 “Love you, Ion.”
   I roll my eyes at the nickname I’ve had since our first date. Most call me Mare, but not Morris. “See you tomorrow.” I wave and close the door behind me.

~~~~~~~~~~

I wish I had known how limited those good days were. I would’ve locked myself in that room and never left.

Chapter 1

The warm sun on my face and the waves crashing against the sand put me into indescribable relaxation. With every wave crashing against the shore, walls constructed of disappointment, heartbreak and loss crack and eventually crumble, allowing for a fleeting sense of relief and, perhaps, a hint of happiness. I release a heavy sigh that carries the burden that’s been too much for one person to bear. It’s a weight that has irreversibly affected my mind and body, and I’m not sure I can carry anymore. Familiar laughter overtakes the sound of the waves. It’s a sound I haven’t heard in years, even in dreams, despite my begging and pleading. Tears fill my eyes, and Lyra’s giggles echo around me. I lift from the beach towel beneath me, shadowing my eyes with my left arm, and see a five-year-old Lyra and a young, handsome Morris smiling back at me. Lyra is running through the tide away from Morris as he chases her down the beach. His hair is long and dark, the way I remember it when I first met him. His eyes carry the light that I watched leave when Lyra’s soul left her body.

   I take in the sight of Morris staring back at me with a joyful, loving smile I haven’t seen in so long. The warmth in my chest amplifies the sun’s heat. I laugh and let tears fall freely, but these aren’t the same tears I shed in the shower or in my bed every night. These are tears of happiness and relief for the return of the things I’ve deeply mourned the loss of—my child, the Morris that I knew, and my marriage. I stand and run toward the tide with every bit of hope I’ve been missing all these years. I run as hard as I can and reach out my hand, but it goes unmet. They didn’t seem that far away when I left my spot on the beach towel, but no matter how hard or fast I run, I can’t reach them. I feel the warmth of the same sun. I feel the grit of the same sand and hear the crash of the same waves. As I watch them run along the shore, I can see the water splash from their footsteps. The glisten of the water droplets on their skin pierces my eyes, yet they seem so far away. I run, and I run until I realize that I’m not moving. I look down to see my beach towel I left unattended at my feet, and it hits me.

   This is unreachable, like the happiness I just felt…

   When I wake up, the sun is no longer in the middle of the sky. I lie still, almost catatonic, as I attempt to make sense of what I’m trying to tell myself, what I have no choice but to accept.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s funny how a marriage begins with two distinct individuals, each with their own personality, goals, likes, and dislikes, and then transitions into one solid unit. A unit crafted by soldering together pieces from each person with precision and meaning. Rarely do salvaged pieces from one person fit with another’s perfectly. Only the lucky find the harmony of their shared pieces fitting exactly with those shared by another. More commonly, people find that the person with whom they shared themselves provides pieces that simply aren’t compatible with their own. Perhaps an even sadder reality is that sometimes the person who receives those pieces slowly molds them into whatever they think those pieces should look like. I once pitied friends who went from failed relationship to failed relationship, desperate to find that match and coming up short, when I had found my other half.

   I’m sure most people meet at a stable and happy time in their lives, whatever that means, but Morris and I
met right after his father died unexpectedly in a car crash. Morris was an only child, so with Donald gone and his
mother dying during childbirth, he was alone. As a fresh medical school graduate, I covered the emergency department that night. The undeniable pull to comfort and guide him through his darkest and most painful time overwhelmed me. It wasn’t long after that fateful day that we began sharing pieces of ourselves. Comfort quickly grew into friendship and coffees on Sunday mornings, to our first date, and eventually into a thirteen-year marriage and two children. I was one of the lucky ones.

   Was.

   The way the young and carefree Morris carried himself, wore his hair, smiled, loved, parented before the death
of our precious Lyra is all in stark contrast to the Morris that I know now. Lyra’s death caused more change than just Morris’s haircuts. Morris had battled demons since I met him, many of which found their way into our marriage, but Lyra’s mere presence obliterated them all effortlessly. As I lie here, reliving all the memories this dream has dredged up, I’m forced to remember that Lyra died shortly after that beach visit and accept the fact that the Morris that I knew and promised to spend my life with died that day, too. Before Lyra, Morris’s pieces seamlessly merged with mine as if they were tailor made for that purpose. Every curve, each nook and cranny, complemented my own, leaving no gap and forging a bond that I once thought was unbreakable.

   I soon learned that nothing is unbreakable.