I used to think betrayal was a single act, something dramatic and visible, a door closing in a hotel corridor or a phone lighting up at midnight. I didn’t know it could…

I met him on the DART on a wet Tuesday evening, the kind of evening when everyone in Dublin looks like they are carrying the weather home with them. I was standing…

I used to think heartbreak would announce itself loudly. A slammed door, a suitcase dragged down the stairs, crying in the rain like something you’d see outside a cinema on Camden Street.…

I met Niamh in a queue outside a tiny café in Stoneybatter, both of us pretending not to be annoyed by the rain. She was ahead of me, holding a tote bag…

I was twenty-nine when I learned that silence can take up more space in a room than furniture. It happened on a wet Thursday in Dublin, the kind of night when the…

I knew something was wrong before we even left Dublin. We were standing in Heuston Station with two coffees going cold between us, and Mark was scrolling through his phone with the…