I used to think love was a room with one door. You walked in, closed it behind you, and whatever life you had before stayed outside. Then, at thirty-four, I found myself…

I was thirty-eight when I learned how quietly a life can split in two. It did not happen with shouting or slammed doors. It happened on a wet Tuesday outside a café…

I met Niamh on a wet Thursday evening outside George’s Street Arcade, when both of us were pretending we hadn’t forgotten our umbrellas. She laughed first, which I liked, because I was…