She had no piece of paper, no recognised validity save what she and my partner felt for one another. She was a guest in my home–the home of a woman she hardly knew–but it was also her boyfriend’s home and she knew him a lot better. My lack of trust was understandable, acceptable even, but that didn’t make it easier for her to handle.
They were once my family, I was not born to them but I chose them. How foolish I have been to think that I am healed, that I am whole. There is always more to work on. More wounds to re-open. So as I saw them, I remembered how much I love him, and how much I still miss him.
I think about it. I think about it all until I am exhausted. And when my mind has no reasons, nothing left, all I have is my love, my loss and my grief. My heart breaks and out of the shattered pieces comes still more love for him.
That evening I got home, Maya was laid up with a belly bug. One of those hideous ones which repeat endlessly and which necessitate the washing of sheets, scrubbing of sick, showering of small infants who detest water. I stayed up all night looking after her and at 6am Freddie awoke wanting to play. Morten and I were exhausted. But when I looked at them still I felt, it was all worth it. And smelling of sick, I still burned for them.
He suggested we convene on a boat tethered on the Seine for a post-lunch glass of wine. Which turned into a bottle. There, he thought he could propose. But the light made our eyes squint and our heads ached from midday drinking. In the blue brightness of day, the open air boats weren’t half as romantic; the tables had cigarette burns on them and the linoleum on the floor was ripped and tatty. Then it started to rain.
She’s an exceptional woman who sees me as an asset. They are happy together. That makes me happy. And our children happy. One big, happy relationship-fluid family. My daughter now has several female role models in her life. We’ve seen a blossoming in her over the past months which warms all our hearts. It’s something kind of wonderful.