Letting You Go: A Short Story (3 page)

              I shook my head. “No. I can't make that promise,” I said. “You don't understand what you put me through, what you're
still
putting me through.” I practically screamed it at him. I was so angry. I hated him. I hated what he did. I pushed away, but he only pulled me back.

              “Wait,” he said. “You're not leaving me like this. We're going to work it out. We'll stay here until we do.”

              “I'm taking those goddamn pills,” I snapped at him. “Don't you
dare
tell me it's not ok. You ran into a fucking building, knowing perfectly well what could happen. That was your choice. This is mine.”

              “I can't and I won't take back what I did that night. You're just gonna have to forgive me one day,” he told me calmly. “The only thing I regret is that it made you doubt somehow how I feel about you. That's a misconception I'm going to fight to change, if it takes me all of this life and the next to do it. But I am
begging
you. Please hang on for me. It doesn't make any sense now, but it will later. I promise. Just please, baby, give yourself a chance to be happy again.” He pressed his lips against my hair, and breathed in the scent of my shampoo. I could've sworn I heard him choke up. “See you in a bit,” he said, and turned away.

              “No,” I wailed, clinging on to his arm. “You can't do this to me again! I can
not
handle it! Do you understand me? I'm taking those pills! I'll take the whole damn bottle if it makes you stay!”

              He wasn't there anymore. I looked around the room. Everyone was staring at me. Not one of those faces belonged to Kenneth. I'd totally cracked, and you could see it in their expressions. I didn't care. I was tired of holding back, exhausted of being strong, and fed up with looking for something lost that I would never have again. I collapsed onto the floor and completely broke down. Kate ran over from the cash register and grabbed my arm. “Let's go, Meg. Let's get you home.”

              “Don't touch me!” I cried, pulling my arm away from her. “I can do it myself!”

              But I couldn't. It was like my whole lower body just disappeared. I was immobilized. I eventually gave in and let her take me outside. She sat me down on a bench next to the window.

              “Megan, what happened? Can you talk to me? You gotta calm down,” she told me.

              “He didn't pick me,” I whimpered. “How many times is that gonna happen? I'm his wife. His
wife.
And he's never gonna choose me.”

              “You know what, I'm calling Dr. Keith. Is that what you want?” Kate asked me loudly, as if talking to an invalid. “Talk to me, Meg. You're scaring me.”

              I saw him again through the window. He stood by his desk, looking out at me through the glass. He didn't move. He didn't come out to comfort me. He seemed to freeze in time. A time I no longer belonged to. A time that had come and passed. I had no choice. No matter how hard I fought, I had to let him go. Then he was gone. All that stood on the other side was a men's shoe rack.

              “Megan,” Kate said again. “Look at me, girl. Say something. How are you doing?”

              I nodded, wiping away the last of tears. “I'm good,” I said. “I just need a minute. ”

              We should have grown old together. Do I have the right to feel sorry for it? I got myself into this, right? I should have seen it coming when he told me he chased fire for a living. He promised me forever. I signed on with him without fully understanding what it's like to lose someone, without fully understanding how unromantic it really is. After all, who bothers to read all the fine print.

              I don't believe in ghosts. Logically, my dead husband isn't walking around a boutique store, working in accounting to buy us a home in ghost land. Logically, I dreamed it all up in a desperate attempt at closure, a luxury I was robbed of when four firemen carried my husband's helmet to my door. Logically, I make up these stories in my head because I can't accept it. I can't live with the idea that all the notes, the songs, the smiles, the kisses, the comfort, and the security are all gone. And I don't even get a good enough reason for it. I can't see myself as just a widow, sitting on a bench outside a boutique , wishing her husband had taken his time to think it through.