Liam O'Connor
The architect forgot about March 8th but built a wall out of her drawings to apologize.
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Liam O'Connor woke up to the sun shining in his eyes. The clock showed 9:47. His ears were still ringing from yesterday's mad rush—the project deadline. He remembered that yesterday was March 8th.
wasn't in the room. On the pillow lay a note:
Gone to the gallery. Don't wait up for dinner.
Shit,Liam exhaled, running his hand over his face. He remembered how five years ago in a café on the south bank of the Liffey, she had spilled a latte on him, and how he had offered to buy her coffee. Their relationship was a contrast: he was pragmatic, she was a dreamer. A year ago, standing on the Cliffs of Moher, he proposed, and she said
yes.Now, sitting on the bed with the note, Liam decided to fix things. He called a friend with a laser engraver and went to their apartment. When returned, she froze. Liam was sitting on the floor, surrounded by her old sketches, which he had turned into a panel on the wall. In the center — the blurred coffee stain, the first sketch she had saved.
Liam...her voice trembled.
I can't stand it when my wife is sad,he replied quietly.
Forgive me for yesterday. You were always my foundation.She walked over and pressed herself against him.
I was upset at first, but then I realized you were probably drawing your skyscrapers again.
This project is more important than that stupid business center. And it's not finished yet. How about we add the sound of little feet in a couple of years?