Free Who We Were Before by Leah Mercer

answer you another way.’

18
    ZOE, SATURDAY, 5 P.M.
    N o matter how fast I walk, memories nip at my heels. It’s as if by allowing that one foray into a corner of my former life, the door has been cracked open. Tears drip from my eyes, like a tap has been turned on. I’m groping blindly, frantically in the dark to shut it off, but images leak out.
    The wedding jumper I knitted Edward, our initials entwined. The revolting non-alcoholic wine we toasted our marriage with. The way he touched my tiny bump as we walked from the registry office, his fingers lightly resting on my taut stomach as if his whole world was inside me.
    My lungs heave as I quicken my pace even more, scanning the street for somewhere to hide. Up ahead, I see the stone steps of a church, and I hurry towards it. Churches are a neutral zone for me: a place with no ties. I didn’t marry in one, and we didn’t hold Milo’s funeral there, either. An image of his service on a bright, sunny day in the back garden, where he loved playing, pushes at my mind, demanding entry. I hold it back with all my strength, rushing up the steps and into the silent sanctuary of the church. I can’t go there. I can’t .
    I collapse into a pew, legs shaking as my chest burns. I might be skinny, but I’m in the worst shape of my life. Hardly surprising, given my mainly liquid diet. I let the silence and the dark sink into me, willing myself back to a numb place. The cavernous space is huge and filled with tourists peering at everything, but their voices are nothing but a low muffle. Then the crowd parts, letting through a beaming bride and her groom, followed by family and friends. God, I didn’t even realise there was a ceremony here! Imagine getting married with dozens of tourists milling around you.
    Good luck , I silently mouth to the woman as she passes, not certain if I’m being sarcastic or if I really mean it. I’m not even sure how I feel about marriage right now. In the past two years, any concern for the state of our union has barely crossed my mind. How could I care, given that the most important thing in my life had already been taken away?
    Before meeting Edward – seven years ago now, I think? – I was certain marriage wasn’t for me. And then, well . . . everything changed. I let myself fall, succumbing to his idyllic, family-friendly version of the future. Despite my tiredness, the foul nappies and the bleeding nipples, I was in love: with my husband, my baby, my life. I suppose that’s partly why I’ve been so shut off from Edward, why I can’t bring myself to feel for him again. I risked everything by buying into his vision – and he was wrong. He couldn’t have been more wrong, actually.
    I twist my wedding band, envisioning the inscription inside, and a memory of us lying in bed the morning after our wedding floats into my head. Edward turned and smiled, then told me to slide off my ring and read the inscription. I raised my eyebrows, thinking it was such a romantic gesture, yet praying to God it wouldn’t be something uber-cheesy I’d be stuck with for the rest of my life. The spindly script and crowded letters on my narrow band were practically undecipherable, but after staring for a few minutes, I was able to make them out.
    E & Z. Our own happy ending.
    ‘Perfect,’ I said, thinking that actually, it was. There was no ‘always’ or ‘forever’, two sentiments which, at that time, still made me feel vaguely uncomfortable. And this was a nod to the story we were writing on our own – our journey, our unique version of the fairy tale.
    Pain grips my throat when I picture what that fairy tale has become.
    I wonder what Edward thinks now. Does he still believe in forever? Does he still want forever, even if our happy ending’s shattered? The way he’s acting lately, he’s already bowed out. Has he, or does he still care?
    I’m not sure which answer I want.

19
    EDWARD, APRIL 2010
    ‘I t’s a girl! Kate had a girl!’
    My