Page 92 of Deacon

The way she gazed at me with such sadness lanced me, yet somehow gave me the courage to open up.

‘You checked out a little more each day,’ I said, my jaw clenching as a fresh wave of sorrow hit. ‘I’d stand in front of you begging you to walk to me, and you wouldn’t even look at me or speak. We’d go weeks without a meaningful heart-to-heart, and I missed you so much. Hell, it damn near killed me, Ana.’

‘That’s because I had nothing to give. I spent hours in the shower every morning, screaming and crying until my throat was raw. My soul was so empty, I had nothing left to offer you.’

The confessions kept pouring out of her.

‘I’m so sorry. I pushed you away. I walked away from us because I couldn’t deal with any of it.’

I leaned forward, pressed my forehead to hers, and closed my eyes.

‘Hearing and seeing you suffer like that tore me apart from the inside out. Your heart was bleeding, and I had no idea how to fix it. I’m a man who fixes things, Ana. And I couldn’t fix you.’

‘So I became cold and distant,’ she whispered, her breath warm against my lips.

‘And I was helpless.’ I slid my hands down to clasp her waist. ‘Every time I tried to comfort you, I only seemed to make matters worse. We were two broken people, wounded and anguished with no clue how to fix us.’

Ana reached up, her palms cupping my jaw, her touch burning through my skin.

‘What we did was wrong. Pushing each other away. I’m so sorry I did that to you. Please forgive me.’

‘Only if you forgive me too,’ I said.

‘Of course I do.’ Ana’s voice softened. ‘We should have held on tighter. We ought to have cried and faced the depths of that despair as one. We should have healed together.’

‘Let’s do that now. The question is how?’

‘We start by remembering her, D. By acknowledging her life, the very short life she lived inside me. You need to know that I wrote her a letter a few days after the funeral. I sealed it in a package with the few things left of her: her hospital paperwork, the ultrasound pictures where she was sucking her tiny thumb, and the imprint of her little foot.’

‘I remember that picture,’ I choked out, a ragged breath escaping my chest. ‘I still see it sometimes when I close my eyes.’

‘I’ve never opened the envelope since. It’s still in my safe at home,’ Ana said. ‘I hoped that one day I could open it with you, to rediscover her. To say her name. To include her in our conversations. To acknowledge that she lived, even if only inside me. I want to celebrate and honor her, together.’

‘If that’s how we find our healing, then let’s do it,’ I murmured.

She nodded, tears spilling down her face.

‘Hold me, Deacon, please.’

‘Of course.’

I shifted onto the couch, cradling her against my chest.

We lay entwined in the quiet living room, weeping as we stripped away our scars and bitter misunderstandings.

After a while, the agonizing storm began to lift.

I drew in a deep breath, the sensation freeing, lighter, less burdened.

In time, Ana’s body stopped shaking.

Her inhalation slowed, syncing with mine. Her head rolled on my shoulder, and she drifted to sleep, exhausted.

She stayed curled into my side, and I ran my fingers through her hair, savoring every second.

Fuck, I missed this woman.

Having her back in my arms brought old memories of happier times rushing to the surface.