Chapter 6
SIX
TORI
Past
“Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servants, Alexander and Isabelle. Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, the sheep of your own fold, lambs of your own flock, sinners of your own redeeming. Receive them into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light. Amen.”
The priest opens his eyes and raises his hands in invitation, addressing all of us gathered to mourn the loss of two of the best people I’ve ever known.
The faint smell of incense mixes with the worn, earthy scent of the pews, and the weight of the sanctuary presses on me from all sides.
I inhale deeply, fighting the urge to let my emotions spill over in the quiet room.
“And now, as our Savior Christ has taught us, we are bold to say:”
The congregation stands, the rustling of clothing and movement of feet breaking the silence. Together, we recite,
Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy Name,
thy kingdom come,
thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory,
for ever and ever. Amen.
I glance at Chase beside me, hoping for even the smallest connection, but he’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his face contorted with irritation.
As the congregation’s voices rise around us, he pulls at his tie like it’s a noose, muttering under his breath.
I reach for his hand, a quiet plea for solidarity in our grief, but he pulls away to scratch his neck.
My stomach knots. He’s always been this way—restless, unable to sit with discomfort—but today, of all days, it feels like a slap.
During the priest’s blessing, my mind drifts, unbidden, to Alex.
I can’t help but think about how he would’ve handled a moment like this.
He was always the steady one—the kind of man who instinctively knew how to comfort Isabelle in her darkest moments.
He never had to be asked or reminded; he simply showed up, fully present, fully attentive.
The way he’d reach for her hand during difficult times, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, a quiet reassurance that she wasn’t alone.
I glance at Chase again. He adjusts his watch now, tapping the face like he’s timing how long this service will take.
The ache in my chest deepens. How did we get here?
How did I go from dreaming about a future with this man to barely being able to sit beside him without feeling the sharp edges of disappointment?
“And now,” Reverend John continues, “The peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of His Son Jesus Christ our Lord; and the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, be among you and remain with you always. Amen.”
Amen.
“If you will please proceed to the burial grounds across the way, we will lay to rest our beloved brother and sister. Let us go forth in the name of Christ.”
Thanks be to God.
“Thanks be to God this service is fucking over,” Chase snipes, adjusting his tie before looking around the sanctuary at everyone waiting patiently for the pallbearers to carry both caskets down the aisle and out of the church.
I look at him, narrowing my eyes at the audacity of this man. “Really, Chase?” I whisper, trying to keep my voice down. “My best friend just lost her sister and brother-in-law—people who, I might add, we had dinner with weekly—and all you have to say is ‘thank God that’s over’?!”
Rolling his eyes, Chase chastises, “Calm your tits, Tor, it’s fucking hot in here and that service was an hour longer than it should have been.”
“Will you stop using that word in the sanctuary?!” I hiss. Another eye roll.
People have started filing out of their respective pews—not quickly enough for Chase, if his grumbling is any indication—and I decide I’ve had enough of him for one day.
My heart is heavy, two of my favorite people are dead, my best friend just lost her other half, and I do not have the mental or emotional capacity to deal with my own husband’s selfishness right now.
“I’m going to see if Alis needs any help with Sunny,” I say, slinging my purse strap over my shoulder and turning to exit our row.
“Whatever. I’ll just meet you at the gravesite.” At least he didn’t make some shitty comment about me giving my attention to someone besides him.
Without saying another word to him, I exit the pew and walk to the front of the sanctuary, hugging Alis’s parents before stepping up beside her to squeeze her shoulder.
“Hey, babe, need help?”
Skye is right behind me—where was she even sitting? I saved her a seat and didn’t see her until right now.
“Hey,” Alis sighs. The grief and exhaustion on her face are palpable. “Could you prepare her bottle? I need to check her diaper.”
I nod and start rifling through the diaper bag for Sunny’s bottle and formula while Alis gets to work changing Sunny. Skye makes some stupid comment that elicits a chuckle from Alis, and I’ve never been more thankful for a moment of levity.
While shaking Sunny’s bottle, I glance out the open sanctuary doors and see Chase laughing with one of his friends in the parking lot. What the hell?!
He’s not at the gravesite. He’s propped against the back of his buddy’s truck, shooting the shit and laughing while everyone else congregates across the street for the burial.
I focus on his body language—his relaxed posture, the easy grin on his face, the way he casually leans against the truck like there’s nothing at stake.
A fresh wave of anger floods my veins. Does he even realize how much his indifference cuts? Does he care?
What is it called when you kill your spouse? Mariticide? Yeah, that’s it. I mean, we’re already here mourning the loss of two people. We could make it three. We could mourn two and feel relief for the third.
Whoa. Did my mind just go there? Seriously, Tori? I wouldn’t actually do it, but what does it say about me that the thought of shoving a ballpoint into his jugular provides an internal chuckle and a moment of reprieve from the overwhelming weight of grief I’ve carried for the past five days.
Not five days. More like five years. The past five days have just compounded onto years of grief.
Grief for the boy I love who wasn’t loved well as a child.
Grief for the emotional battering I take in the name of supporting him through his journey of healing.
Grief for the millions of failed attempts at loving him enough for the both of us.
Love keeps no record of wrongs. Is grief considered a ‘wrong’? There’s supposedly no one way to work through grief, and professional psychologists talk about the journey through it as steps.
I don’t want to hold his reactions to his own pain and grief against him. But when does the pain he inflicts on others finally warrant addressing? And is confronting those grievances showing that I’ve kept a record of wrongs against him? Is it loving to confront it?
I can put the things he’s said and done out of my mind, but they are still there.
I can forgive him and make excuses for him every time he hurts me, but no matter how much effort I put into forgiving and forgetting, my soul knows.
When I look in the mirror I don’t see the vibrant, strong, happy woman I was even just five years ago.
Where did she go? And is it his fault that she’s gone? Or is it mine? When did I lose myself? I’m suddenly overcome with an added layer of grief and I didn’t realize that was possible when I’m already so weighed down with feelings of loss and sorrow.
I can’t grieve the loss of myself today. Or tomorrow. But there will come a time when I can no longer hide behind other feelings, acting as if everything is right in my world and I’m still here.
I don’t know when that time will come, but when it does, how am I supposed to grieve something I can’t even remember losing? How do I mourn the woman I might have been, the life I might have lived.
Might she have been happy? Might she have known love? Might she have been free? Free to laugh, to love, to live.
This is not the time for this train of thought. Focus, Tori. Today is not about you, your issues, or your husband. Today is about the Gilmores, their loss, and remembering my friends.
My mind drifts back to Alex again, to the way he showed up for Belle without question.
He was dependable. Kind. He would never have left Isabelle alone in the sanctuary while he laughed in a parking lot.
Chase, on the other hand, has made a habit of walking away—not physically, but emotionally, leaving me to shoulder the weight of everything on my own.
I grip the bottle tighter, the plastic crinkling under the force of my hand. Maybe it’s not fair to compare Chase to Alex. They’re different men, with different struggles. But I can’t help wondering if I’ve been making excuses for Chase for too long.
I don’t know when I started feeling like a caretaker instead of a partner, but it’s been years.
Actually, I can’t say that I’ve ever been his partner.
I’ve always been his caretaker with the goal of becoming his partner, but that’s never come to fruition.
And now, every step of self preservation I take to distance myself from him—like walking out of that pew—feels like one step closer to the end of us. Maybe that’s what I need.
“They’re waiting. Let’s go,” I turn and say to Alis and Skye.
I hope I don’t sound like a dictator, but right now I’m keeping myself together by focusing my energy on holding my friends together instead.
I won’t be going home with Chase after this.
I’m going to the Gilmores to make sure they are taken care of.
Chase can get a ride from his dumbass friend in that ridiculous truck.
As I lead Alis and Skye out of the sanctuary, I realize something. Leaving Chase behind tonight isn’t just about today’s frustration or grief. It’s the first time I’m choosing my own wellbeing over his. My first step toward choosing myself, even if it means leaving him behind.