My car was halfway down the street. I moved like I was being chased. My mind blank, my chest full of shit I didn’t wanna unpack. The grass felt like it was moving under me.
I was unlocking the door when I heard it.
“Ciarán!”
It stopped me cold.
I turned, slow.
My eyes landed on a little brown girl with afro puffs and a purple dress, grabbing tight to Jordin’s shirt while peeking over her shoulder with curious eyes that looked too much like mine.
Time. Stopped.
It all hit me at once. The weight of four years. The missed milestones. The birthdays. The first words. The moments I didn’t even know I was supposed to be there for.
I couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t move. Just stared.
The toddler looked at me. She looked like me.
I didn’t want children—not because I didn’t like them, but because I didn’t want to fuck them up the way I’d been fucked up.
But I wantedher. I already loved her.
This was too much and too heavy to carry right then. It felt like I was dying, with the sun beaming down and the music still playing.
Jordin stepped forward like she might come closer, but I got quickly in the car and shut the door. I heard her yelling my name, begging me to stop.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t face that yet.
I pulled off fast, leaving dust and pain behind me. I didn’t go far, though. Just down the block. Parked under a tree. Sat there with the car running, staring at the street, feeling like my insides were exposed to the air.
I broke.
My head fell forward. Shoulders slumped.
Tears came.
Silent. Heavy.
No ugly crying, no loud sobbing shit.
Just wet and raw and full of every mistake I ever made.
I had fucked up.
Fucked up bad.
And this time, the cost had a name.
And a face.
And little hands I’d never held.
Fourty nine- Ciarian
