One Small Mistake

by Dandy Smith

I forget when people ask how you are, they don’t really want a truthful answer.

How is knowing there’s someone worse off supposed to make you feel better? As though it’s socially acceptable to take a little bit of comfort in the knowledge that there’s someone out there suffering more than you are right now.

I don’t know what’s worse: knowing or not knowing. Maybe I’ll never find out.

What have I done? How can I fix it? My decision is made: I am going home.

I won’t stop looking for you, Ellie-Bee, not until my heart stops beating.

‘There are two kinds of love, Elodie: the kind you’d die for and the kind you’d kill for.’

It was you. I knew it was you.

I won’t stop looking for you, Ellie-Bee, not until my heart stops beating.

‘You want to know how far I’ll go, Jack?’ I flip open the lighter. The flame springs to life. ‘All the way to the fucking end.’

I do not move. I sit and I watch. I watch Wisteria Cottage burn.

The truth is, my story was never about me and Jack. It was about us. Me and my sister. It always was.

What I need now and what I’ll need always, is a love that washes over me like river water. That soothes. A love I can bathe in.