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“So, you're going away again?”
You know the voice. You know her. She's the mother of three of your children. She's also the reason you have five more. Her green-gray eyes are staring right at you.
Thankfully, you're used to disappointing her and everyone else who cares about you.
“Sure am,” you say, affecting casualness. Your days in community theater paid off in more ways than one.
“Will you be back?”
“No clue,” you say. You really don't know. You're always prepared to die these days, knowing what you know and being willing to do what you are. You pause.
“Do you ever wish it were different?” She just looks at you.
“Do I wish what were different?”
“This. Us.” She sighs and looks around. There's a long pause. You almost decide to cut off the line of questioning when she finally answers.
“Only every day,” she says quietly.
“Is he good?” You ask.
“The sex is,” she says. “Better than with you.” You shrug. There's a sting, but your pride has taken worse hits. Plus, you're the father to her three kids. Sure, you're a deadbeat, but your genes will be the ones passed on.
“Well, he's probably not good for much else, huh?” you say with a confident smile.
“Not nearly as good at everything as you.”
If it were anyone else, you'd brush it off. Her sincerity is what kills your desire to make a joke before it gets anywhere.
“Is it him again?” She asks suddenly. “Is it...”
“Yeah.” You sigh. You're not proud of this, either.
“You two are something else.”
“Yeah.”
“I wish you could've been as committed to being with me as you were to competing with him.”
It's said softly, but you know it's all she can do to stop herself from slapping you in the face.
“You're full of shit,” you say, surprising yourself with your own anger. You never did quite accept your irritability before it overwhelmed you. “I was committed. I wanted to stay. You just sat there as if I wouldn't notice how wrong everything was --”
“And instead of trying to fix it, you went off to fucking Oregon --”
“What was I supposed to do, wait in that house for you to let slip that I was the fucking father? You didn't even message me until I basically begged you to just fucking dump me instead of stringing me along.”
“You went fucking crazy and I'd just fucking graduated you self centered piece of shit!”
“You could've spared a word or two things got to be awful. But you didn't --”
“Go. Just fucking go,” she says, turning away, her eyes doubtlessly crying. “We’re not those people anymore. Well. I'm not her anymore. You... You haven't changed at all, and that's the worst part.”
“I still love you,” you say, your voice genuinely soft. She doesn't respond. “Take care of the kids for me, ok?”
“Asshole,” she says, and shuts the door in your face. You sigh and walk out. Life has not been kind to you, nor to the people you get close to.
But oh well. You're still alive.
That's probably the nicest thing you can say about yourself.
You have to go. You know you do. There's people who need you. People you haven't met yet. People who won't ever have a chance to really live until you bring magic back into their lives.
It's not about “him”, and hasn't been for a decade. It's about everyone you could meet. Everyone you could bring together.
And even if everyone were to hate you, even if everyone were to curse your name and your existence and the fact that you were ever born, the fact that they had been brought together would be enough for you. The fact that they had been given the chance to taste magic would be enough.
Your children have mothers, and you're doing them a favor by staying away. When your children hit puberty, they might start trying to be like you. But no matter what, you want them to have the magic that they were born with.
You would never take that away.