Chapter 40
Karan
I’m underwater.
At least, that’s what it feels like.
I can move, talk, see, taste, touch, and smell what’s around me. But it’s all got a strange coating to it, like it’s been dipped in tar. Or maybe, it’s me who’s been dipped.
When leaving Newfoundland, I stood in front of an abyss, about to tumble below. I’ve fallen, and now I have nothing.
Well, that’s not true. I don’t have nothing. In fact, a pervasive shame hangs around at the idea that I probably have more than many people will ever get to have in a lifetime:
Two healthy sons that I adore more than life itself, a wife who, despite all my shortcomings, has decided to choose me, a lovingly annoying extended family.
So why, then, can my stormy thoughts only focus on what I’ve lost?
Because I made it my identity.
The job I worked so hard to land to please my parents?
Gone.
Those same parents?
Gone.
At least, for the foreseeable future.
I don’t know if either of them will ever change their minds and come around. And I have to be okay with that if I want to keep choosing my own family.
That was a week ago now, and I don’t regret my choice. But fuck, it hurts.
They were the ones to drive nearly everything I’ve done. With no agency, what am I even worth? Without a job to provide, how can I be the father my boys deserve?
I’m ripped from my thoughts by the soft padding of Rachel’s feet against the hardwood floor of the bedroom. I look up from where I’m lying. The sight of her, hair loose, wearing monochromatic sweats in a bright teal that brings out the green of her eyes, gives my heart a temporary salve.
She’s holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a plate full of Aloo Paratha in the other. Both emit a fragrant steam that makes its way to my nostrils.
“Hungry?” she asks, setting the mug and plate on the bedside table and taking a seat next to me.
I don’t want to disappoint her. I know for a fact that she struggles with this recipe, and yet, she tried—for me. But the truth is, I’m not hungry.
I haven’t been hungry for a week.
Still, I sit up and take the plate. “Thank you.”
Rachel smiles and watches me take a reluctant bite, like she has for over twenty meals now. After a few quiet minutes of watching me eat without much appetite, she places a warm hand on my thigh.
“Karan… I’m beginning to really worry about you.”
I get it. This time alone with Rachel was supposed to help, but I’ve stayed in the same sorry state instead.
Try as I might, I can’t will myself to roll out of bed unless Rachel coaxes me into it.
She’s helped me through showers, pressured almost every bite of food I’ve forced down my throat, and managed to convince me to take at least a couple of walks with her.
I should feel motivated to do more. To get better and bring our boys back home. To reach a mental space where I’m ready to apply for another job.
But every time I attempt to will myself into taking action, that willpower fizzles into nothingness.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” I reply to Rachel, though I can’t prove it to her.
The smile she gives me is bittersweet.
“I don’t have to do anything, Karan. I do it because I love you. It’s just…” Her gaze flits away. “This is beginning to scare me.”
My heart sinks at the thought of hurting Rachel. How long will I keep doing this to her?
“Maybe you should see someone,” she continues, squeezing my thigh in reassurance. “A doctor. Or a therapist.”
The fact that she’s the one suggesting therapy tells me how worried she truly is.
“Maybe,” I sigh, putting the plate away on the bedside table, despite having eaten less than a third of the portion Rachel set aside for me.
I’ve only just gotten her back. I can’t lose her again. And here I am, moping around, feeling like shit, becoming a burden on her when there’s already so much weighing on her shoulders.
I’m dragging her down with me when I should be lifting her up.
I need to get her out of this place.
I love her too much.
“How about this,” I start, framing her face with my index and thumb. “I promise I’ll think about it… if you take some time for yourself and get out of the house.”
“What? No!” She grasps the hand that’s on her face, squeezing it as shock flashes through her eyes. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
“I think it would do you some good to get some air and some space.”
“I don’t want space from you, Karan.”
I brace myself for the first lie I’ve ever told my wife. “What if I need space from you?”
Hurt registers all over her face and in the slump of her shoulders.
She opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” I force a smile and kiss her forehead, lingering there for a moment with my eyes shut. “You did nothing wrong, love. I just need to be alone for a little bit. Is that okay?”
Rachel swallows and holds on to her elbows.
“Yeah, okay.” She stands, picks up the untouched mug and the plate piled high with food. “But you’ll call me if you need me, right?”
I nod to reassure her.
She heads into the kitchen with the coffee and food, and I listen to her move around our home while she gets ready. I treasure every sound she makes, holding on to it like a tiny treasure that I don’t know I’ll ever be worthy of again.
When she’s finally ready to leave, she returns to the bedroom, adorned in her thick winter coat and boots.
She pulls me close, her lips brushing against mine in a soft goodbye kiss. I don’t deserve her gentleness, but I let it anchor me anyway. Her arms linger around my shoulders for a moment, and I feel the weight of her worry pressing into me like a second skin.
When she finally lets go, I watch her leave, the door clicking softly shut behind her.
The silence that follows is deafening.
I wander through the condo without purpose, each step heavier than the last. The floor beneath my feet creaks faintly, the only sound in this hollow space that should, despite everything, still feel like home.
My fingers trail along the walls as I pass, brushing against picture frames showcasing our little family at various stages of our lives. Happy moments frozen in time.
I wish I could dive back into them.
The kitchen is spotless, of course. Rachel’s been keeping up with it, though I’ve all but checked out. I open a cabinet, not even sure why. The rows of neatly stacked plates and cups greet me with nothing to say. I close it again and lean against the counter, staring out the window.
It’s a dreary day today. Clouds hide the sun, but it’s not snowing, either. A crow perches on the power line and tilts its head at me as if it knows something I don’t. I look away.
I should be doing something.
Anything.
But the weight in my chest holds me in place. It’s like being trapped in quicksand. The more I think about moving, the deeper I sink. My breath feels too loud in the stillness, and I press my hands to my face, trying to ground myself. It doesn’t work.
A quiet thought creeps in, uninvited. Unwelcome.
I don’t want to look at it. Entertain the reality that it exists. But it’s there, at the back of my mind, vying for my attention.
Go away.
No.
Get out of my hea—
No.
And for the briefest of moments, that quiet, dark thought surfaces in my brain.
It would be so easy. Everything I’ve lost, I wouldn’t need to heal from, if I simply stopped. This endless weight, that sensation of being underwater—it’d all evaporate into nothingness, along with the rest of me.
You aren’t worthy.
You’re a disappointment.
Rachel deserves better.
For a single, minuscule moment, I actually consider it. I consider what it’d be like if I were to fall asleep and not wake up. If I simply faded away.
Those thoughts are violently replaced by the most horrifying sight I can imagine.
Cayce. Corey. Rachel.
Alone.
Dealing with the loss. The healing. The hard things that I’m now thinking of fleeing.
No.
Absolutely fucking not.
What the hell is wrong with me?
And then I’m hit by clarity like a bolt of lightning.
I need them. Just as much as they need me. Just as much as I need Rachel. I was the one who said it; it’s the four of us against the world.
So, why did I let them leave me?
I need all four of us. I need sunny winter days, the laughter of my boys as they attack Rachel and me with snowballs. I need cuddles during movie night and arguments about dinner, piggyback rides and fights at bedtime.
I need Rachel’s lips against mine, our bodies in sync, our hearts beating as one.
I need everything I’ve neglected in my life over the past year.
I run faster than I ever thought possible, back to the room, back where I know my phone lies somewhere in the messy sheets. My heart hammers against my ribs as I throw the sheets around looking for the one thing that will get me what I need, now.
A deep breath of relief escapes me when I finally grasp the phone. Muscle memory finds Rachel’s name and dials it faster than I thought I ever could.
She picks up after a single ring.
“Rachel?”
“It’s me.” Her voice instantly puts me at ease. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I breathe out, meaning it for the first time in a long time. “Rachel, I want you home. And I want you to bring back our boys.”