On Winter Nights

Sometimes, on winter nights, the fallen snow seems to deaden all sound, all feeling. The ice coats your organs, your ears and your heart. It fills your veins, until all you are left with is a dull ache where your memories once were. The winter hushes your soul like a candle. It leaves you cold and dark.

It is on one of these nights that I glide through the house, my footsteps numbed by the cold as I carefully open the heavy wooden door and slip silently into the nursery. A single tear slides down my cheek when I see them: my beautiful baby twins, two boys sleeping peacefully in a cradle, a pocket of warmth in the night. Leaning over them, I gently slide my hands under their soft, thrumming bodies, carefully lifting and holding them to my chest. They wriggle a little, so I coo a soft lullaby until they fall back into their dreams, their heads drooping against my shoulders. They feel so warm, so pure in my arms.

On nights like this, I remember things long buried in the deep recesses of my mind, things I haven’t thought about for years. I remember my first steps, the way my stockinged feet felt, trembling yet eager against the cold, hard ground. I remember my twenty-first birthday, my first sip of champagne. That night, the world tipped toward oblivion before swinging back around to face the stars. I remember the way my you used to touch me, soft but firm, a beacon in the dark of the night. I miss the way you used to hold me, like I was a radiant being, like I was the only thing that mattered. Of course, that was all before you lost your way, before you found your new love in the bottle. Now, you have all but forgotten that I exist.

Upon realizing this, it is almost instinctive: the way I turn around, still holding the twins, the way I hug them close and glide down the hall. Stopping in living room, I stand silently, gazing down at you where you slump, passed out on the couch. I wait for some vestige of our love to resurface, wait for you to wake, give me one reason to stay. Then I continue, opening the front door into the radiant darkness of a snowy night, shutting it behind me.

The night air is freezing, but I hardly feel it, and neither do my precious boys.

These children deserve, so much better than this, than you. They deserve love and affection, hope and warmth. They deserve the sound of birds in the morning and the whispers of pine trees in the night. They deserve happiness. All this world has to offer is heartbreak.

Sometimes, on winter nights, some part of me begins to ask those strange, ethereal questions, the ones that linger in the dark, the ones with no clear answers. I wonder if there is a life after this. I wonder if this is all just a dream. I wonder if anything we do really matters.

If you ever loved me, if you ever did, then you will know where to find me, where to find our children. You will follow my footprints through the fallen snow, remember the way you used to kiss me, the way we used to sway in each other’s arms. You will finally feel your heart stir, feel your tears fall as you search for us, as you beg us for forgiveness. Your heart will bleed and cry. You will search, and you will search, and you will search, high and low, far and wide. And eventually, you will find us, peaceful and unforgiving, your beautiful children forever sleeping on my frozen grave.