The Bite

She was different today, and it struck me with an almost palpable force. How is it possible to spend years with someone and yet suddenly see them anew? Perhaps we get so caught up in our routines that we forget to truly see the people we love. Her eyebrows seemed more delicate, her eyes weary, and her neck and hands bore the lines of time that I had somehow missed before. She looked older, yet oddly familiar.

We found ourselves sitting on a park bench, the morning dew still clinging to the grass and the trees swaying gently in the breeze. The river behind us murmured softly, as if in a hurry to reach some distant destination. Apart from a few joggers, the park was deserted. The silence between us was comforting in its strangeness.

Turning to look at her, I caught her eye. We smiled at each other, but the smiles lingered longer than usual. Her eyes filled with tears, and her chin quivered.

"We hardly ever came here in the mornings," I ventured, my gaze fixed on the horizon. From my peripheral vision, I saw that she was still looking at me. "It feels surprisingly nice."

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I used to come here sometimes before work. It felt good, but I eventually stopped."

We fell silent again. After a moment, she spoke up. "It's been seven months since we last spoke. How are you, Ray?"

"I was doing okay," I replied reflexively, then corrected myself. "No, I'm not okay. But I'm trying. And I know you're not okay either. Did you eat anything this morning?"

She shook her head. "I haven't felt like eating lately. Are you hungry?"

"Maybe later," I said, lost in the realization that it had only been seven months. It felt like a lifetime. "I'm sorry, Bobby. After my dad passed away three months ago, I just couldn't cope. I quit my job. I didn't know if it was right to reach out to you."

"It's not your fault," she said softly. "I needed space too. Work was the only thing keeping me distracted."

We both knew what she was avoiding saying—the loss of our child. I decided to change the subject.

"When was the last time you played on a see-saw?" I asked.

She looked puzzled. "When I used to bring Agnes here to play with her friends."

"No," I pressed, "when was the last time you played?"

"Maybe when I was ten," she said, her confusion evident. "But can we please talk about what happened?"

"Okay," I said, standing up and extending my hand. "But only if you play see-saw with me."

After a moment's hesitation, she took my hand. We made our way to the see-saw, a relic from our childhood. Climbing onto the creaky wooden seats, we began to play. As we moved up and down, I saw her face light up, and for a moment, she looked like her old self.

"Bobby," I said as the see-saw came to a stop, "I miss the life we used to have. Can we ever go back?"

Tears welled up in her eyes as she began to sob. I held her close, trying to absorb her pain. We lay on the ground, the sand beneath us like a silent witness to our grief.

"We did everything we could," I whispered. "It wasn't your fault."

She looked up at me, her eyes filled with tears. "I'm afraid you'll leave me, Ray. If you want to go, I understand."

"No," I said firmly. "I want to stay. I've always wanted to stay. Promise me you won't leave me."

She pulled me close, and we kissed. It was a kiss filled with longing and loss, but also hope.

As we stood up, I noticed two children watching us from a distance. They reminded me of our late daughter—innocent and curious. We exchanged smiles with the children before they ran off to play on the swings.

"Do you want to go have some breakfast?" I asked, realizing it was already afternoon.

"How about mutton?" she suggested, and we both laughed.

As we were leaving the park, a security guard approached us.

"Aren't you both supposed to be at school?" he asked, eyeing the see-saw.

We looked at each other and laughed. The guard shook his head in disbelief and walked away.

Looking at Bobby, I realized she had aged, but the childlike innocence that had drawn me to her was still there, alive and well.

"It was always the child in you that I loved," I said softly.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with tears. "And it was always the child in you that I loved."

As we walked hand in hand, I knew that no matter how much we had changed, the love we shared was timeless. And in that moment, I felt grateful for the chance to rediscover the person I had spent years with, and yet had never truly known.