I used to think betrayal arrived with thunder. A slammed door, a confession, rain lashing against the window like it had been hired for the scene. Mine arrived softly, on a Thursday…

I met him outside the Light House Cinema in Smithfield, both of us pretending we hadn’t been crying at the same film. It was raining in that sideways Dublin way that makes…

For almost a year after my husband died, I walked through Dublin as if I were looking at it through rain on glass. I went to work, bought milk, answered people politely,…

For years, Tuesday evenings were the quietest part of our marriage. My wife, Aoife, would go to yoga in Ranelagh after work, and I would come home to our flat near Portobello,…

The last text I sent her was not angry. That surprised me most. After two years of loving someone in a way that made my hands shake, I thought the ending would…

I met him on a wet Thursday evening outside Whelan’s, the kind of rain that makes everyone in Dublin look like they are running late for something more important. I had gone…

I knew I shouldn’t have gone the minute I saw my name on the seating plan, written in gold ink beside his cousin’s and two empty chairs for people who had dropped…

I met Ciara on a wet Thursday in Stoneybatter, the kind of evening where the rain doesn’t fall so much as hang in the air and make everyone look slightly defeated. We…