Page 58 of Collins
I close my eyes briefly.
“But it didn’t go the way we imagined.”
The memory crashes over me all over again.
“When I was lying on the table and the doctor rolled the wand over me…” I swallow hard. “I knew immediatelysomething was wrong, the second she looked at the screen.” My voice grows quieter.
“Greg must’ve known, too. Because he squeezed my hand right before the doctor said it.”
The words echo, even now. “‘I’m so sorry…but there’s no heartbeat.’”
The lake blurs as tears spill down my cheeks again.
“Every ounce of excitement I had…it just vanished. The love I had for the baby felt displaced, no longer belonging anywhere.” My chest caves inward.
“I was empty.” The words barely escape my lips.
“I became a shell of a person at that moment.” My voice trembles. “And deep down, I think I knew it was my punishment.”
Collins looks at me with confusion-laced eyes. “Punishment for what?”
CHAPTER 32
collins
NOW
The momentthe words leave my mouth, regret crashes over me. I see it happen in real time, the way my sentence seems to travel straight across the space between us and pierce through every barrier she’s put in place to keep any pain away. Her shoulders curl inward, as if the weight of my words press down on her. Every tear she’s shed today has carved into me like a blade, but the ones slipping silently down her cheeks now…these are the worst of all. They hollow something deep in me. I never want to be the reason she hurts. Never want to watch pain take hold of her like this. And yet, here she sits, breaking open in front of me, while all I can do is feel my own heart fracture.
Whatever it is she believes she deserves punishment for, whatever burdens she’s been carrying alone. It’s obvious the raw ache has been eating at her for years. It’s written plainly across her face. Her expression is tight, hands nearly trembling.
I can’t sit across from her another second.
Pushing up from the chair, I cross the short distance between us and kneel beside her. Face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, I put my hands on top of her knees, grasping at anything to comfort her.
“Whatever it is…” I say softly. “Whatever you’re carrying…give it to me.”
My hand hovers for a moment before gently pulling one of hers away from her face. Her fingers are cold when they slide into my palm.
“We’re in this together,” I continue, squeezing her hand lightly. “You don’t have to hold it all by yourself anymore. Let me help you shoulder the weight of it. Please.”
She shakes her head faintly, like the idea alone scares her.
“I know you’re afraid,” I say, leaning closer so she can’t miss the certainty in my voice. “But I’m never going to leave.”
It’s a promise.
“I told myself years ago that if the day ever came when you found your way back to me…it meant something. It meant you were always supposed to be here. And if that happened”—I give her hand another gentle squeeze—“I’d never let you go again.”
A faint, broken breath escapes her.
“You don’t want me breaking promises to myself now, do you?”
For the first time since she started crying, she lifts her head. Her eyes are glassy and swollen, lashes clumped with tears, but there’s the faintest flicker of something there—something softer than the pain.
“Come on,” I say quietly, standing and tugging gently on her hand. “Let’s go watch the rest of the sunset from the dock.”
She rises slowly, unsteady on her feet, and before I can even offer, her arm wraps around my waist. The gesture is instinctive, like she needs the contact just to stay upright. I don’t say a wordabout it. I simply slide my arm around her shoulders and guide her with me.
