Despite his constant maladies and complaints, Timmy’s behavior stabilizes for a short while.
He signs the form to have the charges against me dropped, and my court-appointed lawyer successfully argues to have the state’s case dismissed, despite the state insisting it be continued even without Timmy as a witness. Luckily, my lawyer points out the absurdity of this, and the judge sides with him. A huge weight on my shoulders lifts.
Timmy attends therapy sessions for several consecutive weeks and comes home beaming, recounting his progress. “I told my therapist how much I love you,” he says one day, his voice full of conviction. “I want to be better—for us.”
He adjusts to his new medication, and while he’s still irritable at times, the sharp edges of his personality soften.
He cooks dinner without complaint.
He cleans without slamming cabinets.
He even seems to enjoy walking Sabre to the beach during the day on his little harness.
For a brief moment in time, we’re a semblance of the couple that it felt like we once were.
He’s still emotional about Darren, but his grief has mellowed. He continues working his part-time job, though his complaints about his boss, Robert, grow more frequent.
“Robert’s so picky,” he grumbles. “Just because he does things differently doesn’t mean it’s better.”
When Robert hires a new employee, a woman recently out of the military, Timmy takes issue with her too. “She’s so loud and annoying,” he says. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing, and I end up having to do all the actual work while she wastes time. But she has this giant ass that Robert just likes to look at all day.”
I just nod and encourage him to keep showing up for work. His contributions to our living expenses—while small—are meaningful.
We swim together.
We cook together.
We watch movies without arguing.
I allow myself to feel a rare sliver of hope.
Maybe this is the turning point.
Maybe things can be good again.
But deep down, I know the winds are bound to pick up again. And Darren’s upcoming memorial looms front and center in my mind.
CHAPTER 78
MEMORIES
MARGAUX
By the time Darren’s memorial arrives, I’m running on empty. The brief period of stability Timmy showed in the weeks before now feels like a distant memory, and there’s been a huge backslide.
His grief has morphed into erratic behavior, his emotions swinging wildly between quiet despair and volatile anger. Every moment with him is a potential landmine, more than ever. His sensitivity is so heightened that anything I say or do could set him off.
I’m not doing much better. My nerves are frayed to the point where my hands shake constantly—I’m a knife’s edge away from losing my sanity. The anxiety I’ve been carrying for weeks about this event has reached its peak.
I’m terrified about how Timmy will behave—whether he’ll impulsively run off, get into a fight, or do something reckless and dangerous. Part of me fears he’ll end up doing drugs with some of the people there and meet the same fate as Darren. The other part fears I’ll be the one who bears the brunt of his unbridled emotions.
But I keep all of this inside.
I don’t want to burden my friends, who I’m sure are exhausted by the constant cycle of Timmy’s bad behavior. And, despite everything, I feel sympathy for his loss.
So I don’t talk about how scared I am, or how much this is all eating away at me.
I try to stay strong, for him and for me.