#ThursThreads, week 362

Prompt: https://siobhanmuir.com/thursthreads-tying-tales-together-week-362/

I’d poured the whiskey because this felt like an occasion worth commemorating, but now that I had it, I didn’t want to touch the stuff. I just sat there swirling the brown liquid in the glass and watching the memories of how my life collapsed spin in front of me.

It starts with the fire. Seemed like no big deal at the time – no one was hurt, and we all got out of the house without any close calls. Our house wasn’t even that badly damaged. But I didn’t connect the dots between that fire and the one my wife had witnessed at school as a kid, and I made some jokes. Those jokes were the beginning of the end, though I certainly had no idea.

She sure did. She knew in that moment that I’d never see her as a whole person, I’d never remember that she’d be affected by things differently than I would.

The end didn’t come quickly. There were dozens of small injuries like that one to come before she told me it was over. Little moments where I showed her that she’d never be as important to me as she needed to be.

Now it’s over. She’s gone, our daughters living with her in the house – the same house that caught on fire, while I was sitting alone in this studio apartment with a whiskey I didn’t even want.

But I had my own fireplace. I stared into the flames and wondered what was next.

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