Page 59 of Love Beyond Repair
The sound of a horn signals that my date has arrived. With renewed vigor, I slip on my heels and check my hair in the mirror. The mirror doesn’t lie. There’s a softness in my face I haven’t seen in years, not youth but peace. I don’t look like a wife or a mother. I look like a woman again.
And then I go. I grab my bag, straighten my spine, and step out the door.
It’s not a new beginning. It’s just the end of an old story. And today, for the first time in years, I don’t feel like a side character in someone else’s story. I feel like the lead.
Chapter thirty
Ben
Never in a million years did I expect to become a single father. Co-parenting with Kelsey has been the toughest challenge of my life, especially with my workload and three active children to look after. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Oliver was only eight months old when she decided she was leaving, packing her case and walking out. I was left staring at the closed door with three small children at my feet. We’d been arguing again. I can’t even remember what our fight was about, but I know it was insignificant.
Maybe I left my dirty socks near the laundry basket, or she failed to tidy the children’s toys. Possibly I’d stepped on a stray building block, I muse.
For the first two years of our new routine, it’d been difficult, to say the least. We agreed she wouldn’t return to work until Ollie turned three and qualified for government-funded nursery hours. Our home was our sanctuary, so we continued to live together, but separately.
This allowed us to share the responsibility of the home and care of the children. Our three babies grew up surrounded by love, but I must admit, it was an awkward situation. In public, we kept up the pretense that we were together. For the kids.
Although my personal life seemed to disintegrate before my eyes, my career was moving from strength to strength. Having the two years to plan a future as a separated family meant I could put strategies in place to be successful both in my work and as a father.
My credibility as an oncology consultant continued to grow. Opportunities came my way that I never imagined. Organizations offered me positions abroad, and I received invitations to speak at professional conferences.
With Eamon’s support, I applied for a position at a private hospital nearer to our home. I negotiated a shift pattern that included both days and evenings. I could drop the children at school some days and collect them on others. Kelsey then returned to full-time employment as a nurse, and I moved into an apartment close to the house. Somehow, we’ve made it work for us.
The children have a stable home environment, albeit split between two locations. Both homes are financially secure. As parents, we communicate openly.
I still love Kelsey, but not in the way I used to. I see now our relationship was the teenage dream—not only for us, but for our families. We never developed beyond that and struggled when life got real. So here I am, pushing forty, a lonely single father of three. It’s probably what I deserve to be.
Our apartment is modern, sleek, and in an excellent area. There are three bedrooms, which is a relief. It means only the two girls need to share a room when they stay, which is multiple nights per week.
The children are my world. Every moment I get with them is precious. It all works, on paper. The job, the apartment, the co-parenting rotation. I’m doing everything right. And yet… some nights, when the apartment is quiet and the dishwasher hums in the dark, it feels like I’m missing a piece I never got back.
Deep down, I know who that is. I don’t even know where she is, but Bex would never entertain me after how I treated her. I left her, not only once but twice. Walked away, giving her nothing beyond a goodbye. It doesn’t matter that I thought I was doing the right thing; looking back, it was wrong.
But life doesn’t pause for regret. Not when there are rounds to do, lunches to pack, and three kids who need meto keep it together. So, I shelve the thoughts like I always do, and get on with the day.
“Good morning, Jones.”
Eamon’s booming voice and beaming smile fill the ward. It’s Wednesday morning, so I take the day shift. Kelsey drops the children off at school, and I’ll collect them later.
Eamon followed me to Larson’s Private Hospital when I moved. Said he was “too old” to be learning to work with other idiots. I suspect he and Melissa were worried about me and about losing touch with my children. They treat them like the grandchildren they never had.
He hands me a paper cup filled with a steaming-hot latte. This is our routine: he buys the morning coffee, and I get the lunchtime snack. Then we set off on our rounds of the ward to see how our patients are holding up.
Working at the private hospital is a walk in the park compared to the public sector. The hospital keeps its rooms from being overbooked, we keep the store cupboards fully stocked, and working hours are capped. If we’re asked to do overtime, we get paid for it. I’ve never felt more in control or as secure as I do now.
Eamon and my first patient of the day is a lovely lady called Peggy. She’s well into her eighties and has stage four breast cancer. We can’t cure her, but we keep her comfortable with pain medication. Her only son lives in Australiaand is making his way to London this week. I hope he arrives in time to say goodbye.
“Morning, Peggy. How are you feeling today?”
My voice is light and breezy, but this woman isn’t stupid. She’s fully aware of the seriousness of her situation. She smiles up at me. The nurses have her propped up so she can see both the television and the door.
“Doctor Jones, aren’t you looking handsome this morning? Give an old lady like me a heart attack before this bastard cancer gets me.” She laughs, amused by her own joke. I lean down and kiss her cheek. The affection is professionally inappropriate, but culturally required sometimes.
“It’s always a pleasure to be in the company of a fine woman,” I tease playfully. “Is there anything I can do for you today?” She drums her fingers on her lips as she pretends to consider my question.
“Well, Doctor Jones, any lady would be foolish to refuse that offer.”
