Does he have to parse this memory for telltale signs now? Little indications that their happiness was all a facade? What did I miss? Were there red marks on her legs, or puffiness under her eyes, or a vacant stare when he turned his head? Some dark subtext in her musing on the shape of the clouds, in her indecision over what kind of ice cream to buy? This is what makes him angriest – she’s made him second-guess all the good times, all his favourite memories.

She’s made him feel like their life together has been a lie.

—

Shawn is downstairs in the kitchen having his morning coffee when Katriina finally comes home. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she is wearing the same clothes she had on the night before. Her face is bare of makeup. She looks tired, but also more relaxed than he has seen her in weeks.

“Are the boys still at my parents’?” she asks.

“They’re at Victor Street.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Neither of them moves. He knows he should go over to her, put his arms around her, tell her everything is going to be okay. But it’s as though the distance between them, the mere length of their kitchen, is impossible to bridge. Instead, he takes a sip of his coffee. It needs more sugar, but he drinks it anyway, not wanting to turn away from Katriina in case she disappears.

“I thought I should get some of my things,” she says eventually.

“What things? Why?”

She reaches into her purse and pulls something out. “Here,” she says, holding out her hand.

So she’s making him go to her. He moves slowly around the garbage bag still in the middle of the floor. In her palm is an elastic band – the one she wears around her wrist, Shawn assumes. “Why are you giving this to me?” he asks, staring down at the elastic without making a move to take it from her hand.

“I thought you should have it.”

“Katriina –”

“I want a divorce.”

Shawn slowly raises his head. “You want a divorce?”

“Yes.” She pauses. “Don’t you?”

He collapses back against the kitchen table. I think my marriage might be over, he had told Finn last night. But now he realizes he didn’t mean it. “No,” he says. “Of course not.”

Katriina narrows her eyes at him. “I just think it’s for the best.”

There is a sudden perceptible shift – inside him, inside Katriina, in the tension in the room. The balance is tipping. He can feel himself losing control. Just pretend this isn’t happening.

“We should really get those cuts on your legs checked out,” he says, his voice hoarse. “You don’t want to get an infection.”

“Please listen to me, Shawn.”

He can’t breathe. Just pretend, and it will stop. “I can take care of you,” he says, touching her face.