I used to think betrayal had to be dramatic to be real. A hidden phone, a second apartment, a whole other life. What happened in my family was smaller than that, which…

I met him on a wet Thursday night outside Whelan’s, when the whole of Camden Street was shining under the rain like somebody had polished it for heartbreak. I was twenty-four, working…

I was nineteen the summer it happened, working the breakfast shift in a café near O’Connell Street, smelling of toast and coffee no matter how often I washed my hands. I was…

I met her at mile nine, just after the long green hush of Phoenix Park, when my left calf had begun to tighten and my confidence had slipped somewhere behind me on…

I used to think love was the whole answer. If a man came home every evening, kissed your forehead, remembered how you took your tea, and stood beside you at funerals and…

I met him on a wet Thursday evening in Dublin, the kind where the rain doesn’t fall so much as hang in the air and make everyone look half-lost. I was standing…