Page 138 of Fighting Chance

Am I doing this right?

Will Emmy ever be okay?

What if she never speaks to me again?

How do I heal something that’s a permanent scar?

I don’t know what to do anymore.

I always wanted more for my future children and before I even had a chance to give Emmy the childhood she so rightfully deserves, hers was tainted. I can try and make it up to her, I can love her and care for her and provide a safe home for as long as I live, but I’ll never be able to get those first three years back.

I’ll never be able to fix it.

I will never be able to erase the scars.

The buzz of my phone in the car draws me up. Lifting my head to the sky, I take another set of deep breaths before getting back in. The panic attack has settled, but the buzzing of anxiety in my chest lingers.

People sometimes get confused between the two, but you could be sitting and holding a polite conversation with someone while feeling as if you’re having a heart attack. A panic attack, however? There’s no functioning when it comes knocking on your door. You are utterly at its mercy.

Picking up my phone, I see the time and realize I’ve probably worried Layla.

MY FUTURE WIFE

Hey, are you on your way back?

Seems I was stopped longer than I thought.

Choosing not to respond, I put my car in drive and two minutes later, I pull into the driveway, taking one last deep breath before forcing a smile on my face so neither Layla or Emmy know that I was breaking down just a few minutes before.

With my duffel bag hanging off my shoulder, I slide my key into the lock and walk in. Even to my own ears my steps are heavier than when I left—until the sound of a soft giggle followed by the pitter-patter of small feet stops me.

What is she doing up so late?

Rounding the corner, I come to a standstill.

My heart that hasn’t been able to stop beating a mile a minutecomes to a screeching stop. I feel the abrupt halt like I’m on a rollercoaster.

My jaw drops, practically unhinges as shock thunders through me.

Emmy and Layla stand in my living room wearing matching Oodies. The former claps her hands wildly, bouncing around on her feet like she’s eaten a bucket of sugar, while the latter bites her lip in…

Is Layla nervous?

She looks from my gobsmacked form to the coffee table in front of her.

Rocking back on her heels, she shrugs. “I thought you could do with some cheering up.”

The breath I didn’t realize I was holding rushes from me. The coffee table is covered with bowls of cereal, not a single square inch free. Then my gaze strays to the TV, the telltaleGilmore Girlslogo illuminating the room.

Relief, swift and fast, rushes through my blood as the claws that were clutching my heart release their hold at the sight of my girls.

The awe is evident in my voice as I sigh, “You have no idea how much I needed this.”

And at that, my darling girl is running for me, her little arms outstretched waiting for me to catch her.

And as I always will, I do.

Because maybe I’m not doing as poor of a job as I thought if she’s running for me with a carefree smile.