Grounding me.
Saving me.
Reviving me.
I think of our baby. Imagining them with her freckles and golden hair. Her laugh. Her kindness. Her compassion. Her patience. All the perfect parts of her bundled into a precious life.
It would be so easy to allow the past to consume me, succumbing to the darkness this day brings, to stop fighting as the claws slice through healing scars.
I think of my family, who’ve stood by and supported me through the worst moments in my life.
Life is fragile, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to take it for granted.
Fate, however, has other plans and refuses to be puppeteered.
My arm flies out, halting Riley in his tracks as a low hiss filters through my headgear, barely detectable.
“What is it?” His eyes scan the smoke-filled space.
“Listen,” I say quietly before easing my mask off my face and sniffing the air.
He does the same, confused, until he’s hit with the same odor.
Rotten egg.
Gas.
“We need to get back to the?—”
I don’t finish my sentence.
A large explosion bursts through the metal shutters on our right, sending us soaring into the far wall.
Welcome or not, the darkness comes, and I’m thrust back in time.
Waking up alone is becoming less and less daunting with each new morning. No less painful, though. I avoid looking at the empty, untouched side of the king-size bed and drag myself from the mattress, stretching and cracking my joints.
I know what I’ll find before I draw the curtains, thanks to the incessant pounding against the windowpane. Rain pelts the glass, drumming the same beat it has played non-stop for the last three days. The storm is forecast to die off by the weekend. Two riverbanks have already burst because of the heavy rainfall, with threats of landslides closing down multiple roadways.
Though my station covers the inner-city suburbs, most firehouses are on standby when severe weather persists like this. My next shift doesn’t start for another three hours, and after fitting in a short workout, my body ticks with impatience. Why stay at home, alone, when I could make myself useful at the firehouse?
Alison’s words come flying back at me.
“You promised me you’d be there. You physically placed your hand over your heart, and yet you left me waiting at the doctor’s for over an hour.”
Shame at hearing the tears in her voice through the phone assaults me. She had every right to be angry, sad, mortified. Every emotion under the sun. I took an extra shift at the station, thinking we could do with the extra money. I hadn’t meant to lose track of time. The doctor’s appointment had been in the calendar for weeks. Fuck, I was excited about it, for god’s sake, but as usual, I allowed myself to be absorbed in other priorities.
It wasn’t the first time either.
Birthdays. Anniversaries. Dates.
Alison’s last ultimatum turned out to not be empty, and I only had myself to blame when I came home, exhausted and filthy, with an apology bouquet, only to find her bags packed and sister parked outside.
“I need some time, Warren. We both do. I’m tired of feeling like priority number two in your life. You need to decide if this is what you want.”
She didn’t give me the opportunity to respond before climbing into her sister’s car and disappearing into the night. That was two weeks ago, and apart from the odd text and phone call, we hadn’t addressed the issue at hand.
Of course she’s my priority, has been since the day we exchanged vows five years ago, but I knew my excuses would lead to more arguing, something we’ve done a lot of in the last twelve months. I knew what she wasn’t saying: if things didn’t change, the divorce she threatened me with would become a reality.
