Free The Far End of Happy by Kathryn Craft

threatened to kill himself.”

ronnie
    Six weeks ago, in early September, Ronnie sought out Jeff to talk more about the divorce. As far as she knew, he hadn’t even secured legal representation, and Ronnie, who had already put off this decision way too long, wanted to formalize their separation. But she and the boys were having a typically crazy day. Even the pages of her journal couldn’t center her that day, the lists and notes in the margins outweighing the prose: Finish bulk grain and seed purchase order for store, line up interviews for next article, muck horse stalls. (Why isn’t Jeff doing this anymore? Should we sell horses?) To ensure his sobriety, she invited Jeff along for the ride to the day’s activities, round two: after-school Tae Kwon Do, a quick dinner, and parent-teacher night. He was all too willing to oblige.
    Baiting him with the pretense of togetherness threatened the inner balance she’d fought for with years of journaling and weeks of counseling, but effective communication was impossible through alcohol’s haze. If manipulation was required to keep booze out of the equation that night, so be it.
    But Jeff was so good at pulling her off the rails. To get through the night, she needed some small symbol of her commitment to self, something to fortify her through the few hours of playacting required. And so, after a moment of hesitation, she slipped off her wedding rings and left them in her jewelry box.
    That evening, Ronnie sat with Jeff and Will in a line of folding chairs waiting for Andrew at Tae Kwon Do. As always, Ronnie watched the class. Jeff, apparently, was watching Ronnie.
    “Where are your rings?”
    For years he had ignored her in every way that counted; Ronnie was surprised he’d even noticed. She hadn’t meant to make a public statement. As kindly as she could, she said, “Let’s talk tonight, Jeff. At home, like we planned.”
    After Tae Kwon Do, they got drive-through burgers and ate on the way to parent-teacher night. Ronnie—and Jeff too, she was sure—pretended to listen to the teachers and look at the projects on the wall, slapping smiles over twisting guts and draining hearts. When they finally got home and Jeff declined her invitation to join in on the boys’ bedtime rituals, she skipped reading the boys a book by promising two the next night.
    Ronnie rejoined him in the living room. He sat on the love seat; she sat on the couch.
    Jeff spoke first.
    “I was going to shoot myself tonight.”
    She wasn’t sure she heard him right. He wasn’t hysterical. He could have been saying, I was going to watch football, but the Eagles weren’t playing. Ronnie couldn’t focus on the magnitude of what he was saying; she got stuck on the word “shoot.”
    It only took another moment to add it up: he’d already come up with a plan, and it involved a gun.
    “What do you mean, ‘I was going to’?”
    “I wrote a note at work and put it in my pocket. I thought you’d find it when you did the wash, but it was still there when I put on my pants for work today.” All Ronnie could think was, He thinks I go through his pockets? Even the kids knew to police their own pockets before putting them in the laundry or face the potential loss of their contents. She didn’t have time for such nonsense.
    “Come with me,” he said, leaning forward but not standing when Ronnie didn’t move.
    She couldn’t. Her spinal fluid had turned into a thick, cold paste. The golden wall color they’d so carefully chosen—“Daybreak”—mocked them as the room took on a darker hue. “Why?”
    “I want to show you something.”
    Ronnie stalled. “How could you think of doing something like that? What about Andrew and Will?”
    “They’ve always been your kids, not mine.”
    What? She and Jeff had wanted those boys so badly. After persevering through two miscarriages, they’d been so grateful when their sons arrived. And he’d lavished them with attention, changing diapers and cuddling