Page 42 of Irish Daddies
Kellan
Caroline has barely eaten in anything in four days. Her plate sits nearly untouched, some things scrambled around, like moving them is eating. I bring her favorites of hers—fruits, cheese, whatever I think will please her. She thanks me. She always thanks me, voice small and polite. But later I find them hidden under scraps of paper or on the windowsill, untouched.
I’ve started bringing her tea and crackers in the soft morning light. Once I coaxed a spoonful of oatmeal into her, stroking her hair until she munched without warning tears. She thanked me, but her eyes were far away.
Sometimes I turn on the shower, let it steam the room while she stands beneath it. Just standing. No tears, no sobs. Clean.
She’s trying to disappear.
She still tucks the boys in at night. Still brushes their hair and reads to them. But it’s mechanical, like she’s a puppet of herself, going through the motions for an audience she doesn’t believe is watching. Her voice doesn’t change tone. Her fingers don’t caress their hair like they used to. She still turns the pages of the books, but it’s muscle memory, not heart.
The other night, I sat next to her on the couch while she readGoodnight Moon.Her eyes were blank, her lips moving automatically. The twins leaned on her like everything was normal, and I just sat there, watching the most lifeless bedtime story in the world unfold.
I tell her stories about my childhood—racing Rian around the yard, lying under stars with Declan, stealing Dad’s whiskey from under the sink. Once she cracked a faint smile. I caught her, immediately robbed it back with the worry in her eyes.
I want to shake her. Scream at her. Tell her she has more now than she ever had. She had only the boys before us. She has a family now. And I need her to fucking show up for it.
Declan
Five days into this suffering, and she’s starting to look more like a solider. Quiet. Still. It should make me feel safer. Should make me trust her. It should comfort me, bring me joy. There was a time when I wanted to break her. When I wanted to let the world grind her down and see if she still spat in its face.
But all I see is rot. Her silence isn’t calculating, it’s hollow. I watched her stare at the ceiling for two hours yesterday. I didn’t realize how much I needed her spark.
I liked that she talked back. I liked that she cried and then bit me when I tried to touch her. I liked the way she held the kids like she could protect them from fire with nothing but her hands. Killing that man should’ve been the turning point. That should’ve made her ours.
But it didn’t. It just took the shine out of her eyes. I keep waiting for her to scream. To shove me. To slam a door and accuse us of stealing her life.
But she doesn’t. She’s hesitant now and pulls back from my hand, flinches at my breath. When she moves closer, it’s like she’s measuring the risk. There’s something hollow in her eyes that twists my chest every time she hears a car door or phone ring.
The worst part is the boys. I find myself resenting how freely they still get to touch her. How they curl into her lap and press their faces to her belly like she’s the sun. I sit across the room and watch, starving for the warmth they still seem to feel, even if she’s gone cold underneath it. They don’t see what we see. Not yet. They just know she’s their mom, and she’s home base.
And I envy them for that.
I’m starting to think we broke the only good thing we ever touched.
Rian
On the sixth day, I can’t take it anymore. I push the blanket off her and move her to the edge of the bed. “Come eat with us,” I coax, pulling her to her feet. She waves me away, suggesting loyalty to the small allotments of carbs on little squares of napkin in front of her.
My chest tightens, and I let her fall back down onto the mattress. “More crackers?” I ask, and she shrugs, curling back into her fetal position.
Kellan
After a solid week has passed, I bring a freshly washed towel to Caroline and run my fingers through her greasy hair. “How about a real bath? Not a rushed shower?” I ask her.
She shakes her head without looking at me, her hazel eyes fixed on the wall in front of her.
“I can help you if you need. I can lather you up. Wouldn’t it feel good to have your hair washed?” I ask her gently, but she doesn’t look up. I lay the strands of hair back down, press my palm to her forehead, and walk out.
Declan
I don’t know if we’ll ever get her back. If I’m being honest, I don’t care if they do. I only care if I do. A week has passed, and she’s still lost to her grief and guilt.
At night, I slip into her room and get on my knees next to the bed. I fold myself over her body and listen to her breathe. I cup her face, and she flinches. I whisper to her, “We are never letting you out of our sight again, Caroline. You mean everything to us. To me. I won’t let this be it for you.”
No reply.
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