Chapter 27
The rain is no longer the top story in Manchester’s tabloids, nor is the scandal that for months fueled local gossip and high-society circles.
For weeks on end, the printing presses churned out their names at the same pace the city usually devours other people’s tragedies, only to bury them shortly afterward beneath the cloak of oblivion and the next big story.
Now, with the storm having passed, there is no trace left of that public morbid fascination; only the structural consequences of the demolition and the lives of the two women who managed to survive the impact remain.
From the far end of the kitchen, Nerissa Ashcombe silently watches Seraphina as she finishes making the morning coffee.
Seraphina is wearing a white linen shirt, its sleeves carelessly rolled up to her elbows, and she balances a pair of reading glasses on the bridge of her nose as she calmly reviews some documents spread across the dining table.
Nerissa smiles unconsciously, leaning her weight against the kitchen cabinet as the steam from the coffee maker begins to fill the room with a rich, comforting aroma.
“Staring at me again?” Seraphina remarks without looking up from the papers, though a subtle hint of amusement curves the corners of her lips.
Nerissa raises an eyebrow playfully, takes two steps forward carrying the hot cups, and sets one of them right beside her partner’s hand.
“And I’m supposed to apologize for that?” the surgeon retorts, taking a seat in the chair next to her. “I consider it my absolute right to examine the effects of morning coffee on my favorite patient.”
Nerissa takes a sip from her cup, savoring the coffee’s bitterness.
“How was yesterday’s meeting?” she asks with genuine interest.
“It was extremely boring, tedious, and predictable,” Seraphina states.
“That, in the language of ordinary mortals, means it went like a charm,” Nerissa deduces.
“Exactly.”
The small firm where Seraphina currently works occupies just two discreet, modest floors in a building in downtown Manchester; however, when she returns home at dusk, that sense of freedom and peace of mind is worth far more than anything else.
As for Nerissa, her practice is based at an independently owned high-performance sports center located on the outskirts of the city. There she operates on professional athletes, soccer players of various levels, long-distance runners, and rugby players.
Seraphina stretches out her arm, pushing aside the accounting papers to focus her full attention on the surgeon, whose eyes seem fixed on the reflection of the light dancing across the surface of her coffee.
“What are you thinking about?” Seraphina asks.
“That we’re doing really well.”
This time, they both share a broad smile.
“Do you want to go for a walk?”
*
The neighborhood streets overflow with a bohemian vitality, a world apart from the strict formality of the financial district where they used to spend so much of their time.
Nerissa glances sideways at Seraphina as they walk past the facade of an old factory converted into art galleries.
Seraphina gazes into the shop windows and watches the silhouettes reflected in the glass without tensing her shoulders, without quickening her pace, and without looking away hurriedly in search of someone who might be spying on them.
As they turn the corner onto Thomas Street, Seraphina catches her girlfriend’s attention.
“By the way, there’s a… logistical matter we need to sort out for the next few days,” she announces.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m going to have the kids this week. Finally,” Seraphina says. “I think this is the first step toward them finally forgiving me.”
“Really? That’s wonderful!” Nerissa exclaims, throwing her arms around her.
“The last time we spoke, they seemed really excited about exploring the neighborhood,” Seraphina confesses, a hint of emotion in her voice. “Do you want to know something I’ve realized?”
“Tell me,” Nerissa replies.
“That if I could go back in time… if I had the chance to rewrite every single day since we met, I swear I wouldn’t change a thing that happened if this were the outcome. Or maybe I’d try to fight the fear a lot sooner,” she jokes.
“You know what?” Nerissa says, stepping in front of her until their noses nearly touch. “Me neither. Because I know for sure that one way or another, you, Seraphina Chapman, would have won my heart.”
The two women smile and continue walking hand in hand. And as they round the next corner of the neighborhood, neither of them looks back to see what has been buried beneath the rubble of their former reality.