Chapter 21
Rachel
Everyone else seems to be having fun while I’m stewing in my despair. That’s the thought that keeps circling in my mind as I watch the family spread out across the frozen expanse.
I’ve been wandering aimlessly, but I need to keep my mind occupied. My boots crunch against the snow-dusted ice as I make my way toward where Aisha is setting up one of the smaller fishing huts. She gives me a tentative smile as I approach.
“Need help?” I ask, honestly happy for any task that will keep my hands busy and distract me from my mess of a mind.
“Sure,” she says, then adds hesitantly, “Actually, can I tell you something?”
I nod, then help her secure one of the hut’s corners against the wind. The fabric snaps in the cold breeze.
“When I was little, maybe six or seven, Karan used to read to me whenever our families got together.” Her voice is soft, almost lost in the wind.
“He’d do all these different voices for the characters, though sometimes he’d start coughing from grating his throat a bit too much.
He never quit in the middle of a story though, no matter how bad it got. ”
The image hits me hard—a younger Karan, all long limbs and messy hair, stuck in a coughing fit yet determined to finish a story for his little cousin. It’s so perfectly him. That dedication is one of the things I love most about him.
But why is she telling me this? Where is this coming from?
Reality crashes into me once again as a glimpse of last year trickles into my brain. That same dedication drove him to ignore my pleas for him to rest last year when his flu developed into pneumonia. He’d rather work through a life-threatening illness than let down his boss.
The same dedication that I love so much from him has been slowly killing our marriage.
“He’s always been like that,” I say, surprised by the thickness in my throat. “Never knowing when to stop.”
“Yeah.” Aisha meets my eyes. “But I just feel like you used to be the one who could make him pause. Take a breath.”
Before I can respond, let alone fully digest what she’s telling me, Corey’s voice rings out across the ice. “Mommy! I think I got something!”
I start moving before I can think about it. My maternal instinct takes the wheel in moments like these. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Karan heading our way too, but I reach Corey first.
Unfortunately for my excited son, it’s only a snag. The line caught on something beneath the ice. I can feel Karan hovering behind me as I help Corey free it, my shoulders tensing at his proximity.
Our son’s excitement dims as he glances between us, and guilt twists in my stomach. The boys have been picking up on the tension. Of course they have. They’re five years old. It’s that weird age between early childhood and full lucidity.
They’re awake enough to understand and communicate, and still completely unjaded, still untainted by some of the harsh realities of the world.
It makes them so intuitive.
I straighten up and avoid Karan’s gaze, then move away to work on my own line. The wind is picking up, carrying snippets of conversation across the ice. Aisha is telling some story that has Martine and Anjali laughing, while Surinder and Suresh debate the best spots to make the next few holes.
A beautiful day, by any other metric than my own.
The fishing line tangles in my hands. I yank at it in frustration, but it only makes it worse. Someone—I think it’s Anjali—offers help, but I wave them off. I don’t need help. I don’t need anyone to see how badly I’m failing at even this simple task.
The thought of failure ambushes me, sending a tremor through my hands that makes the tangled line worse. Tears threaten to escape from my eyes. Ridiculous. I’m not going to cry over a stupid fishing line.
I blink hard against the cold wind.
I’m stronger than this.
The crunch of boots on ice resonates behind me, and I can tell it’s my husband before he speaks.
After fourteen years, I know the sound of his footsteps, the pattern of his breathing, the way the air changes when he’s near.
It’s muscle memory, bone-deep knowledge will likely be in my DNA until the day I die.
“Let me help,” he says, his voice soft in a way that makes my chest ache.
I keep my eyes on the tangled line. “I’ve got it.”
“Rach.” The old nickname hits me like a physical blow. “Please.”
That please undoes me somehow. It’s not just about the fishing line. We both know that. And suddenly, I’m too tired to keep fighting.
My hands still as he steps closer, and I breathe in the familiar scent of him—coffee and wool and that same cologne he’s worn since college. My body remembers this, remembers him, even as my mind screams at me to maintain the distance I’ve so carefully built.
His fingers brush mine as he takes the tangled line, and even through two layers of gloves, the contact sends a jolt through my system. I catch my breath, hoping he doesn’t notice, but of course he does. Karan has always noticed everything about me, except when it matters most.
“Remember the first time we came here?” His voice is low, meant only for me as he works on the knots. “You told me ice fishing was the most ridiculous way to spend a vacation.”
Despite everything, my lips curve up slightly. “It is ridiculous.”
“But you came back. Every time, you came with me.”
“I didn’t come for the fishing.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
His fingers pause on the line, and I watch them, these hands I know so well. Hands that used to cup my face when we kissed, that cradled our boys when they were newborns, that now spend more time typing code than touching anything real.
“I know I haven’t been here lately,” he says. “Not really here, even when I was physically present.”
I look up at him then, really look, for the first time since our fight last night. His eyes are the same deep brown that made me forget my lecture notes that first day I caught a glimpse of him in that CEGEP humanities class, but something in them appears different now.
“Karan…” I start, not sure what I'm going to say.
“I want to be here now,” he cuts in, his voice urgent. “Not just for this vacation. For all of it. For the ridiculous ice fishing trips and the quiet mornings and the chaos of getting the boys ready for school. For you.”
A gust of wind whips my hair across my face, and before I can react, his hand is there, tucking it back under my hat. It’s such a familiar gesture, one he’s performed countless times over the years, and my throat tightens at the muscle memory of it.
This time, I don’t pull away.
“Words are easy,” I say softly, but I can hear the waver in my own voice, sense the crack forming in the walls I’ve built.
“Then let me show you.” The tangled line falls forgotten between us as he takes my hands in his. “Give me the chance to show you.”
Around us, the family continues their ice fishing.
Corey’s excited chatter echoes to my ears, along with Cayce’s dramatic retelling of some weird dream he’s supposedly had to his cousins, and Jocelyne calling out that lunch will be ready soon.
But in this moment, all I can focus on is the warmth of Karan’s hands around mine, the earnest plea in his eyes, the weight of fourteen years between us.
I look down at our joined hands, then back up at him. The man I fell in love with along the shores of the Saint Lawrence river. The father of my children. The stranger he became. The person standing before me now, asking for another chance.
And slowly, standing on the edge of something both terrifying and hopeful, I nod.