Nicholas & Emma

CW: marital breakdown, emotional distress, family tension.

I blow out a forceful breath, my heart hammering as I watch his car pull into the driveway of what used to be our home. He parks in his spot, and for a moment, I pretend nothing’s changed.

But it doesn’t last long enough. Everything’s changed.

You did this to yourself, I think.

Our children's laughter drifts from upstairs as I stand at the kitchen sink, scrubbing their sticky lunch plates in soapy water.

The sky is dark, a storm rolling in, and my eye catches his through the window for the briefest moment as he exits his car before we both look away. No easy smiles or lightness between us. Nothing like how it used to be.

I unplug the sink, the sound of water and bubbles draining as I grab a worn dish towel, drying my hands before walking to the bottom of the stairs.

“Kids, your dad’s here. You better get downstairs.”

I head back around to the kitchen to grab their overnight bags resting on top of the table as their thunderous steps come down the stairs and a knock sounds at the front door.

It’s strange that he has to knock at the door he installed. A door he used to come through after a long day at work, greeting me with his arms wrapped around my waist and kisses along my neck as I cooked our dinner.

My skin warms at the memory, but I push it away and drag my hands down my face in an attempt to relax, pasting on my best fake smile as my daughter rounds the corner.

“Daddy’s here,” she tells me, lopsided pig-tails and Nicholas’ green eyes narrowing in on me, tugging at my heart.

I never thought I’d be one of those parents that had to spend a weekend away from her own kids. I always pitied those parents. Now I’m one of them.

“Let’s go, sweet pea” I tell her, grabbing the bags and following her down the hallway as I hear our son unlock and open the door.

“Hey, Dad,” Liam says quietly, his usual upbeat tone seemingly vanished since Nicholas moved out a week ago.

“Daddy!” Vivienne shouts as she runs toward the door and jumps into his arms, an oomph escaping my husband’s lips.

At four years old, Vivienne doesn’t understand what’s happened to our family, but at nine, all Liam knows and cares to know is that it’s my fault.

“There’s my baby,” Nicholas says, hugging Viv into his chest and a sharp pain stabs me. “Are you all set?” he asks her, not meeting my eyes.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Liam says, grabbing his backpack roughly from my hands.

“Hold up,” I tell him, pulling him back to me for a quick one-sided hug. I breathe him in and squeeze his body into mine wishing I could keep him home with me, but the moment is quickly over before he moves away, pushing past Nick to wait in the car.

“I love you!” I call out to him, but my words go unanswered.

“Bye, Mama,” Vivienne says, rushing over to hug my legs.

“Bye, baby girl. Have fun with Daddy this weekend and I’ll see you Monday after school, okay?”

“Okay, Mama. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” I tell her, tears prickling behind my eyes, but I blink them away, knowing there’s only a few minutes until I’m alone and can let them fall.

“Go on and get in, Viv. I want to chat with your mother for a minute,” Nicholas says, finally meeting my eyes.

It doesn’t escape me that Nick now refers to me as your mother to our children, instead of just Mom or Mama like he used to. I’d be lying if I said this small change didn’t slice through me with a serrated blade.

We used to joke around that we were no longer Nicholas and Emma. That we’d shed those identities to become who we were truly meant to be. Mama and Daddy.

We look at each other for a moment as Vivienne glances back over her shoulder at me before heading down the porch steps to get into the car with her brother.

“How are you, Em?” Nick asks me once she’s out of earshot.

I swallow visibly. “I’m okay. You?”

Ignoring my question, he continues, “Did the kids have lunch already?”

“Yeah, they each had a sandwich.”

“Okay good,” he says, the awkward silence beginning to choke me as I busy myself with the strap on Vivienne’s overnight bag. This was the first thing to noticeably fracture between us. The ability to talk to each other. But neither of us seem to be able to move past what drives us apart.

“Are you going to be okay here alone?” Nicholas asks me.

What other choice do I have?

Funny to think I used to crave alone time after a busy day alone with our kids. Now I’m terrified of it.

I’m a stay at home mother whose children aren’t even going to be home for her to care for. I’ve built my entire life around my family and it’s all come crashing down around me like a picture frame shattering when it hits the ground.

Will I be okay alone in a silent home as my children spend the next two nights a few streets over with their father, a man I love so much and who I know loves me?

No, I think. I won’t be okay. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him, attempting a small smile as I finally meet his eyes, but he sees right through it. How could he not? We’ve been together for twenty years. He knows all my looks.

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you Monday at Dr. Childers' office. Noon right?”

“Noon,” I say with a nod, already dreading our first marriage counseling session in weeks. Last we talked to Dr. Childers, Nicholas was still living at home and we were attempting to work things out.

“Is Vivienne’s extra EpiPen in here?” he asks, taking Vivienne’s overnight bag from my hands.

“Yeah, it’s just in the front pocket.”

“Okay great… Well, have a good night.”

“You too,” I tell him as he heads out to the porch and down the steps to his car and our waiting children.

I follow him out onto the porch, wrapping my arms around myself to ward off the chill from the incoming storm. He gets into the car as our neighbours walk down the street of our quiet Toronto suburb.

Sniffling, I offer a final wave when he backs out of the driveway and down the street leaving me alone on our front porch. I can’t help but wish things could be different but have no idea how to fix this mess. How to fix how I feel.

I swallow deeply, taking one final look over my shoulder, the car already long gone before I head inside, closing the mahogany door behind me.

I stare into my empty, quiet home. The place Nick and I brought our babies home from the hospital. Where we’d cozy up together on the couch with a glass of wine and talk about our plan for our life once the kids were asleep. A plan that’s no longer a reality.

I drift into the kitchen, my favourite wine calling to me. As I shut the refrigerator door, the Polaroid photos that cover it stop me cold. Years ago, Nicholas bought me a Polaroid camera for my birthday and we’ve spent the years since taking photos of special moments. Trips to the zoo, cute moments of Liam reading to Viv, and Christmas mornings over the years. All those tiny, perfect versions of us lined up in neat, happy rows. I trace my finger over one of Nick and I laughing before forcing myself to look away, filling my wine glass higher than I should and carrying it back to the living room.

I sink down into my spot on the couch, taking my first sip of wine before setting it down on the coffee table, listening to the tick of our grandfather clock, the only sound throughout my silent house. Large snowflakes start to drift soft and slow outside the bay window, like the world has finally exhaled.

I watch them through the glass and only then do I let my tears fall.