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…

I met him on a Thursday night in Dublin, which already made it feel like the sort of thing that should not have mattered. Thursdays are for quick pints, last Luases, and…

I used to tell people we were “just intense.” That was the word I chose because it sounded romantic and grown-up, the kind of thing you might say about a couple who…

I met Aoife on a Tuesday evening in Dublin, the kind of evening where the rain hangs in the air without ever properly falling. We were both sheltering under the same narrow…