Then I felt someone slide in beside me.
At first, I thought maybe it was an old coworker who’d heard the news and came to show their love.
But, of course, that hadn’t been the case. Everyone there had stopped reaching out months before. And I’d gotten tired of always being the one to reach out first.
No.
It was no one who cared about me.
It was Matthew’s friend.
A groomsman from our wedding.
Nico Costa.
Another person who seemed to despise my very existence. Though, I could only imagine it was for other reasons than Matthew’s family. He couldn’t exactly object to the way I dressed when he himself was always in a suit and wearing a watch that cost more than my whole wedding.
In the handful of times I’d crossed paths with Nico in the past, he’d been cold and distant and in a hurry to get away from me.
It was clearly just about me, though, because Matthew and his family were forever going on and on about how kind, warm, and generous Nico Costa was.
Him sliding in beside me was the first time I’d experienced that firsthand.
Those stormy eyes of his were full of understanding, too. Which I hadn’t expected since in kicking Matthew out, I’d likely sent him right to Nico’s doorstep.
So maybe he didn’t hate me as much as Matthew’s family did for deciding I was through with my marriage.
Maybe, unlike them, Matthew opened up about things. Maybe he knew about the endless begging (on my part) for things to change, the therapy I’d gone to alone, the counseling I’d taken Matthew to. For three sessions before he declared it was all ‘bullshit’ and refused to go again.
Maybe Nico understood, even a little bit, how doomed my marriage had been from the very beginning. Not, as Matthew’s family assumed, just because of me. But because Matthew was just as far from perfect as I was.
I know I was only reinforcing the idea that I was a stone-cold bitch to the Ferraro family all through the service and the ceremony at the grave.
It wasn’t that I felt nothing.
It was just all simmering under the surface—a pressure that was bound to burst. But hopefully when I was alone.
I didn’t need to show them my grief. I’d probably never see them again anyway.
I expected to keep it together until the door was closed and I was free to feel all of my conflicted feelings, the guilt mixed with the grief, the confusion and the anger and the regret.
But then there was Nico, an ever-present shadow behind me. Silent. Steady.
I knew I should tell him to go. But I couldn’t seem to make myself.
Then as soon as we started to speak, as soon as he told me it was okay to grieve—regardless of the separation—it was like the well overflowed and started pouring.
He was right there again.
But this time, catching me as I fell, pulling me close and letting me sob into his already damp shirt.
It was all there. Everything I’d been feeling since I heard the news. And before. It was the grief of his death, of the brutality of it. But also the years of losing him, of feeling him slip between my hands as I desperately clung, trying to keep convincing myself it could work, that there weren’t too many hurdles to overcome. Yes, there was also the overwhelming guilt of the last of his days on Earth being full of confusion and loss after I’d told him I was finally done.
“I’ve got you,” Nico murmured, his lips touching my hair as his arms held me tighter when a loud, shuddering cry escaped me. “Just let it out.”
It didn’t feel like I had a choice.
Once it started pouring, it seemed to surge endlessly.
