Dear You,
Look, I’m married. And I’ve a horrible feeling you already know.
I wasn’t lying when I told you I was single. And I definitely wasn’t lying about how you made me feel.
Reuben and I separated about three months ago. The thing that finished us off was that I couldn’t give him a baby, but I think we’d both known for a very long time that we’d come to the end of the road. It’s a long story—probably beyond the scope of Facebook Messenger—but it was very hard for him.
I was so horribly relieved when he sat me down; I knew what he was going to say. I only wished I’d had the courage to say it myself, years earlier. I sat there opposite him with a phone charger in my hand, weaving the cable round and round my fingers until he took it, and then I cried, because I knew he needed me to.
Is that it, Eddie? Is my marriage why you didn’t call me? If it is, please try to remember how it felt when we were together. I meant it all. Every kiss, every word, every everything.
I read the message three times and then deleted the whole thing.
Dear Eddie, I wrote instead.
I suspect you’ve found that I am married. I would dearly love the opportunity to explain the whole thing to you, face-to-face—although I want you to know right now that I am not married any longer: the website is out of date. I was—and still am—single. And I want to see you, and apologize, and explain.
Sarah
Tommy, Jo, and Rudi were long gone. I had been crouching in the back of Tommy’s car for nearly half an hour.
I was going to have to get out.
