The Affair

Chapter 40

I've bolted upright. Her name hangs in the air, having just come from my lips, into the silence. I can barely open my eyes as the dream of her fades. Not so much fades, because I can still remember it. Her being taken out of our bed, put onto a stretcher, and then into an ambulance. All while I sobbed uncontrollably and had to be held up by Sophie and Theodora's father.

It wasn't much of a dream, considering that's exactly what happened.

When I do open my eyes, my vision is blurred. I close them again, tightly, and wait. I wait to hear her voice tell me good morning, feel her lips against my cheek, or her body slide against mine. I wait for warmth. But it's so cold. I shudder, shiver, feel cold chills spread across my body.

"Oh, god."

Tears come hot and quick as I bury my face into her shirt. I dug it out of the hamper, it's one of the last things she wore before she passed, and it smells of her. I fell asleep holding on to it. I'm sobbing softly, incessantly, as I curl my body into the fetal position. I feel sick. It's a mixture of intense grief and alcohol. I drank far too much last night, my head is throbbing, and I can only see her face. It's in the darkness, bearing down on me, trying to swallow me whole. My grief is immeasurable, too immense for words, eating away at me from the inside out.

"Dada."

I jump and quickly turn over. Phoebe is in the bed next to me. I vaguely remember Bernadette bringing her in here sometime during the night, through my drunkenness, and putting her to bed. I'd forgotten until just now and wipe my tears away. I don't want her to see me this way.

"Sweetheart... hi."

My body feels weak, as if it's been thrown, stomped on, destroyed, but I manage to sit up. As I pull her into my arms and rock her, the nanny is coming in.

"I was making her breakfast. Can I do anything for you, sir?"

"No. Just get out."

She nods, then slips back out of the door. I'm sure I've hurt her feelings, but I don't care. The only person I care about at this moment is Phoebe, who I stare at. She looks so much like Theodora in this moment that I shudder. I stroke her cheeks and smooth her wild hair down, kiss her forehead, and hold her tightly against me.

It's been, what, three days? I don't know. It's all a blur, but today is the funeral. There hasn't been any comfort, none whatsoever, and the only time I feel warm is when Phoebe is with me. I keep thinking I should put myself out of my misery... but she always comes to mind. I couldn't leave her. Not the way my mother did to me. And I can't be how my father was.

But what am I supposed to do? I'm broken. How can I live without her? How can I raise our child without her? I'm going to fuck her up. I just know it. I feel it. She'll be fucked up by me more and more the older she gets.

I sob softly against her small shoulder and squeeze her tightly. She doesn't even understand what's happened. But she's been saying mama and mommy as if she's looking for her. It kills me and makes me feel even worse than I already do.

After some time she falls asleep against me and I lay her down, on Theodora's side of the bed, and I tuck her in. I stare at her closely, looking between her and the picture that sits on Theodora's nightstand. It's of the three of us last fall, in the park, for a family portrait. Phoebe was so small and chunky. We looked so happy. I never could have imagined this was what was coming. A bad dream, a dark cloud, ruining the life we've built together.

Her things are laying there, too. Her wallet, car keys, cell phone, earrings, and watch. I've held them and touched them, but mostly just looked at them.