Chapter 23 December 23rd
I don’t remember getting home yesterday.
I vaguely recall getting a bottle of wine out of the fridge, but I don’t remember finishing it.
Don’t remember having a shower, which I only know happened because my hair was still damp when I woke up.
I don’t remember unwrapping the collage of pictures of Noah.
I don’t remember tipping out all the unpacked boxes and hanging Mummy’s and Noah’s stockings on the wall.
I do remember sobbing for so long my face is stinging and blemished today. And I do know I can’t be in this apartment alone a moment longer. I feel numb. Hollow.
Back to square one, except I have an added loss as fresh as the loss of my child to cope with. And more anger, but this anger is all for myself for being so na?ve and ridiculous to believe my life could bear any semblance to normal again.
This is on me.
Dec’s absolute silence—no message, no call, no visit—screams his answer. He loves me. So much. But the stability he wants for his child outweighs that.
He’ll move on. As everyone else seems to do.
I wrap up and step into my boots, pulling a hat on as I search my apartment for my phone, trying to remember the last time I saw it.
I can’t. And I don’t need it, anyway. So I abandon my search and head out, looking up at the white sky when I make it outside.
One fat snowflake floats down before me and lands on an icicle that’s formed on the bare blossom tree, and something inside the frozen water shines at me, pulling me close.
A white feather is frozen in the spiked ice. Perfectly preserved. As white as snow.
Beautiful but trapped.
Reaching for it, I drag the pad of my gloved finger down the ice, catching a drop of water off the bottom that sinks into the material of my glove. Melting to nothing. Without a purpose. A lot like how I feel too.