When I'm 26, I meet Mathias. He comes into the library where I work and asks for a recommendation. He leaves his number and suggests that we continue our conversation on books over dinner.
Three months after I meet him, he kisses me for the first time. My heart opens itself to him, and the feeling is as wonderful as I always thought it would be.
Six months after I meet him, he posts a picture of us on Facebook. Everyone says how well we go together.
Two years after I meet him, he comes to my flat unexpectedly. He asks me if I'll make him the happiest man in the world. I say yes.
Two years and six months after I meet him, we get married on the sunniest day of the year. He gives a long speech, remembers to thank everyone and puts in jokes and stories that are actually funny. I blush, mumble and look down. He knows I mean it just as much as him anyway.
Three weeks after our wedding, we come home from our honeymoon. We spent half the time in Spain and the other half in the north of Norway. His choice, then mine. Crowds and isolation. Heat and cold. Him and me. He looks around himself as we step through the door.
"Our home." he says. He slips his hand into mine and I hold onto it. The light is dimming and the shadows lie thick in the as-yet-unexplored corners.
One year after our wedding, something we should have talked about before becomes a problem. He wants a child. I don't.
One year, six months and countless hours of Mathias's secret sorrow after our wedding, I give in. I know how much he wants the couple to become a family.
Two years and several visits from the adoption agency after our wedding, the nursery room is all prepared. I've never seen Mathias so excited. The phone rings. Mathias answers it.
"The mother got him back." he says. He goes out alone and comes home late, drunk and angry.
Three years after our wedding, the phone rings again. We become parents over the course of a single conversation. We go to pick up our son. His name's Emil and he's two weeks old. Mathias has tears in his eyes as he holds him.
"I always dreamed it would be like this." he says to me. I take my turn and look into our baby boy's eyes. He stares up at me. Nothing stirs in my heart. I try so hard to feel something, but nothing comes. Emil cries and Mathias takes him back from me. "He's probably just tired." he says. His voice is bright and brittle.
When Emil is a year old, he says his first words. He calls Mathias 'daddy'. He doesn't call me anything.
When he's three, he plays Joseph in the Nativity play. Mathias puts an old dressing-gown on and calls himself the Prophet Mathias. Emil laughs until he can't breathe. In the end, Mathias can't make it to the play. I go, but Emil cries like no one came at all.
When he's seven, he breaks his arm. He asks Mathias and all his schoolfriends to sign his cast. He doesn't ask me.
When he's nine, I realise I've never had a proper conversation with him. I say it to Mathias in bed one night.
"Boys his age don't like talking." he reassures me.
"He does if it's to you." I reply. I take Emil for ice cream, just the two of us. He answers my questions in single words and doesn't look up from his bowl.
When he's thirteen, his first sort-of girlfriend comes to visit. Mathias hugs her like she's his long-lost daughter. I shake her hand. She won't meet my eyes. I overhear her talking to Emil.
"I never knew you had two dads," she says. "You only ever talk about the one. I kind of assumed it was just you and him."
When he's fifteen, the three of us go out for dinner. I have a small glass of wine. Mathias has half a pint of beer and gives Emil his first sip. Neither of us is drunk. But the driver who hits us is.
Two weeks after the accident, I straighten Emil's tie for him and tell him that Mathias would be proud of the young man he's become. My words linger in the air for a long time. It rains throughout the whole service. Emil reads a poem about fathers and holds his tears back until the end.
A month after the accident, it's our eighteenth anniversary. I catch sight of our wedding photo and start crying. Emil sits beside me. His face is blotchy and he has a crumpled tissue in his hand.
"I miss him too." he says.
I put my arm around him. "He loved you so much," I tell him. "He cried when we first took you home. That was the happiest I ever saw him." I pause. "I love you just as much as he did. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I do."
"I love you too, dad." Emil says. It's the first time he's ever called me that.
Three years after the accident, Emil leaves school. With those grades, he could be whatever he wants. He studies Psychology, then becomes an adoption counsellor.
Five years after the accident, Arthur comes into the library asking after the books on mythology. I tell him we share an interest, and we end up talking for an hour.
Three months after I meet Arthur, he invites me to his house for coffee. I tell him about Mathias and Emil. He tells me about Alfred.
"He was a soldier," he says. "We never really had the chance to have a family."
Six months after I meet Arthur, I take my wedding ring off.
Seven years after the accident, I go to visit Emil in his new flat. He has a picture of our family on his wall. We're all smiling. I look at it as I ask him how he'd feel if I remarried. He's angry. "You can't just replace dad like that." he shouts.
"I'm not replacing him." I protest.
"I don't know what else you're doing." he says. I leave after that. He calls the next day. "I'm sorry," he tells me. "I don't mind if you get married again. I don't want you to be lonely."
"Thank you." I say, and I mean it.
Eight years after the accident, I marry Arthur. It's smaller than last time, and sadder. We both have the memory of another wedding to compare it to. Emil is one of our witnesses.
Ten years after the accident, Emil introduces us to Lili, his new girlfriend. She's so sweet, and obviously besotted with him. Later that night, Emil calls me to say he thinks she's The One.
Twelve years after the accident, I stand, heart swelling with pride, at my son's wedding. Tears are shed by all at the memory of Mathias. Arthur is uncomfortable.
"I feel like I shouldn't be here." he confides. Emil toasts him in his groom's speech, calling him 'a good, kind man.' He feels better after that.
Fifteen years after the accident, my grandson, Aris Mathias, is born. I have tears in my eyes as I hold him.
…..
Author's Note: Hope you all enjoyed that! It literally just came to me out of nowhere, so here it is after a little refinement. If you're following Sharp Seville Oranges, I know it's been a month, and I'm really sorry about that, but I've really written myself into a corner. However, if you have any thoughts or ideas, please do PM me – I'd love to discuss them! Thank you all for reading!