She never gave me a chance fifteen years ago.

This time, I’m taking that chance.

“No. No, Simone. You can’t re-write history. That is not what happened. I wanted to find deeper love with you by raising those beautiful children. Our children. With you. We were supposed to find even more love by creating them. Not less. You don’t get less from me because they get my love, too. The only way to make that happen is to leave. And you did. You took your love away from me. From them. You don’t get to make me the bad guy here. I didn’t cast you aside. You cast me aside.”

“Nick, I—”

“You chose Rolf.”

“Oh, please, this tired argument? It was a fling, and then—”

“But long before you chose Rolf, you chose yourself. You showed your true self to me, and I loved it. Loved you. But once you weren’t the center of my world—the only center—you couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t share, could you? You’ll never, ever know what it’s like to have that deeper sense of love, the purity and divine that comes from giving more than you know you can give.”

The air crackles as if I’d slapped her.

“How dare you. The children love me.”

“They do. They love you more than you’ll ever know. They miss you, too, Simone. Miss you deeply. I’m the one who had to make excuses for you for years. Why Maman didn’t visit more. Why she didn’t call. All the didn’ts. Why didn’t Maman this. Why didn’t Maman that....”

“We talk! I have a good relationship with my children!”

“Of course you do, because they still crave the love they never got! But you might as well be Aunt Simone. You have a surface level relationship with them, and you’re damn lucky for that. They extend you a courtesy. You chose Rolf over them.”

Over me.

“Va te faire voire!”

“You always shouted that whenever I spoke the truth, Simone.” A bone-weary tiredness begins to replace rage. She’s diminishing before my eyes, all surface, no depth. All shell, no interior. Instead of making herself vulnerable, trying to find a more authentic truth in the past we share, she needs to win.

“We can’t all be saints like you, Nick.”

And there it is.

“Never pretended to be one, Simone. All I am is one man.”

“All you are is a father.” Her lips curl up in a snarl. A smear of burgundy lipstick mars one cuspid.

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“It means you’ve chosen not to be whole.”

“Said by the woman whose sense of self is created by the man she’s with.”

“Then we’re two of a kind, Nick, because your sense of self comes from being a father.”

“No. Fatherhood connected me. But it didn’t define me. I define me. No one else can do that.”

Real fear flickers in her eyes. She drops her hand from her ear, lips tight, nose wide with fury as she snatches her purse off the table by the door.

“You can explain to the children. Explain to them why I cannot be there today.”

“Won’t be the first time. I’m a pro at it.”

Her shocked look quickly turns to utter fury. “You asshole.”

I deserve that. Doesn’t make my statement untrue.

“I’ll have them text you. They’re adults. I won’t be your go-between any longer.”

“You’re really going to ruin this?”

“This… what?”

“This chance. I came here to try to re-ignite the spark between us.”

“I thought you came to support Amelie at her concert.”

She laughs through her nose, the sound irritatingly painful, like a paper cut. “You are so singular. I can accomplish both with one task.”

“Task?”

“Don’t do this, Nick. Don’t analyze my words and give them more meaning than they have.”

“I’m a task? Your daughter is a task?”

“I won’t let you do this, Nick.”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel less.”

“Maybe we have more in common than I thought.”

She blinks, hard, hope filling her face. “Yes?”

“Because I won’t let you make me feel like less of person either, Simone.”

And with that, I leave her alone in my townhouse, walking away, abandoning her.

Because I know exactly where to find more.

Chloe

“It’s not what you think,” he said.

That’s what they all say.

I shouldn’t turn around and look, but I do.

He’s gone.

The heavy pain in my chest has radiated out to every cell and nerve in my body. My fingernails hurt. My eyelashes ache. I keep moving forward, because what else can I do?

That’s what they all say. But I thought he was different.

As we approach the turnstile at the T entrance, I automatically reach in my pocket for the card case where I keep my Charlie card.

Nothing. The pocket is empty. In fact, my hand goes right through the cloth.

Shit.

That ripping sound on the doorstep.

Now what?

Oh no no no. Please no. Not a walk of shame all the way back to Nick’s. Not hunting around the front of the house in full view of anyone who might be looking.

NOT—please NOT—having to knock and borrow cab fare if the card case is not there.

If it were just me, I could suck it up and walk all the way home. But I can’t do that with Holly. And it’s not just my T pass that’s missing, it’s my driver’s license, my debit card, my O access card. I have to try to find them.

I turn around. I have no choice.

The streets are not as crowded, now that lunchtime is over. We make better time. And Holly, my good girl, stays sound asleep. I don’t care if she’s up till midnight, just let her stay asleep now. Has anyone considered nominating the inventor of the binky for a Nobel Peace Prize?

At the foot of Nick’s street, I pause and pull the hood of my jacket over my head. I’m already wearing sunglasses. This subterfuge will certainly prevent me from being noticed. A panting and disheveled woman hauling an orange Italian baby stroller up a somnolent and otherwise dignified Beacon Hill street is practically invisible, right?

I take a deep breath. Once more unto the breach, dear friends. Once more.