After the Storm, Goodbye

A deafening crack tore through the apartment as the balcony door, already spiderwebbed with cracks, blew apart completely.

Hurricane wind and rain came pouring into the living room in a single surge.

In the space of a blink, everything in the room was swept off its surfaces and scattered across the floor.

In the crib, my son, not yet two months old, jolted awake and started screaming.

Still weak from childbirth, I picked my way through the dark and the broken glass, threw myself against the crib, and put my body between Owen and the wind.

"It's okay, baby. Mommy's here. Mommy's right here."

I held him tight. My voice was shaking, but I couldn't let myself fall apart.

Ten minutes. That was all it had been.

Ten minutes ago my husband, Caleb Rourke, had pulled on a rain jacket and walked straight out into a hurricane the county had already issued warnings for, because Brielle told him her window was broken and she was scared by herself.

Before he left, I caught the hem of his jacket and pointed at the trees bending sideways outside. I was close to begging. "Caleb, the balcony glass is already cracked. The wind's too strong. Stay. Please."

He brushed my hand off, impatient, his eyebrows pulling together.

"Lena, Brielle's window is already gone. She's a woman alone with a kid. Do you have any idea how helpless that feels?

"You've always been the strong one. I know you can hold things together here until I get back.

"My brother died young, and I promised him I'd take care of her. Don't pick tonight to be difficult."

The strong one. I looked down at the blood still running from my calf and the whole thing struck me as absurd.

I'd married a man I thought would stand between me and the weather. He'd married someone he thought was built out of iron and didn't feel weather at all.

Once Owen had quieted down, I limped to the bathroom for the first-aid kit.

By the light of the lightning flashing outside the window, I poured iodine straight into the torn-open wound.

I wrapped it as best I could and sank down beside the sofa. The matching sweater I'd been knitting for the three of us was soaked through with muddy water, so filthy you couldn't tell what color it had been. It looked about like my five-year marriage.

Two years of dating. Five years of marriage.

Caleb had treated his brother's dying words—take care of your sister-in-law—as scripture he wasn't allowed to question.

A burned-out bulb, a clogged toilet, a parent-teacher conference for Evan. One call from Brielle was all it took. It didn't matter if we were at a movie, at a prenatal appointment, or in the middle of our anniversary dinner. Caleb got up and went.

I used to make scenes. I used to let him see how much it hurt.

Now, watching Owen sleep in my arms, I couldn't find even the last thread of expectation.

No point posting about it online. No point calling Caleb to have it out. None of it was worth anything anymore.

Calmly, I texted Dana Kessler, a friend from law school who practices family law.

"Dana, I need you to draw up a divorce settlement for me. Property split follows the apartment I bought before the marriage. Custody of my son is non-negotiable."

After I hit send, I made myself a quiet promise.

Caleb, for our son's sake, I'll give you three more chances.

After the third one, we're done. For good.

It was two in the morning before my screen finally lit up.

A text from Caleb.

"Babe, Brielle's window is in really bad shape and she's a wreck. Wind's too strong for me to get back tonight, so I'm going to crash on her couch. Lock up and get some sleep."

I read the brush-off, didn't answer, and turned the screen face down.

I held my son and listened to the storm, and I was still awake when the sun came up.