Page 79 of From This Moment (After We Fall 4)
Wes was in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, looking at his phone. For a moment, I was back in time, looking at another man in dress clothes after work, checking his messages, waiting to say goodnight to his little girl. Everything was good. We were a family.
He looked up at me, his forehead wrinkling with concern. “What’s wrong, baby?”
I twisted my ring. “Abby wants you to say goodnight.”
“Okay.” He paused. “Is that okay?”
“Yes.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I pressed my lips together. “No ghosts. Just a little worried about Abby. Go on and say goodnight and then we can talk about it.”
“Okay.” He dropped a kiss on my head as he walked by, then put a hand over mine. “Stop fidgeting. Everything will be okay.”
I tried to smile.
He left the room, and I saw that he had put the dinner dishes in the dishwasher while I’d been upstairs with Abby, and the pans I’d used to cook with had been scrubbed and set out to dry on dishtowels. I’ll say one thing for Lenore. She raised her sons right.
Was I doing right by my daughter?
My throat tightened. I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Wes in the kitchen doorway, his face etched with worry. “What?” I asked.
“She asked if I could be her dad.”
The room spun. “What did you say?”
“I said I couldn’t, because she already had a dad, and nobody could ever replace him.”
I nodded as tears swam in my eyes. “That’s a good answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
“She asked me if you could move in.”
His face went a little pale. “What?”
“Because she wants to be a family. Because she feels safe when you’re here, and I’m not sad. My daughter doesn’t feel safe with me, Wes. I’m not enough for her to feel safe. I’m not doing this right.” I dropped my face into my hands and cried, conscious of the fact that this was exactly why Abby didn’t feel taken care of with me. I wasn’t a real adult in her eyes, because real adults don’t cry. But it only made me sob harder.
Wes’s arms came around me in an instant, and I let him hold me, my sobs muffled in his chest. He rubbed my back and spoke softly. “Hey. Listen to me. You are doing a great job raising Abby. I’ve spent enough time with kids her age to know that not all of them are as well-mannered or kind or happy as she is.”
“How can she be happy?” I cried. “I can’t give her what she needs.”
“Yes, you can, and you are. You’re giving her a home and healthy food and unconditional love every day. You’re also showing her an example of a woman who suffered an unimaginable loss but picked herself up and carried on. You’re teaching her that life is unpredictable, sometimes sad, but at the end of the day, what matters is that you have each other. And you’ll always have each other.”
“There’s no such thing as always,” I sobbed. “It’s a lie. I thought I’d always have a husband. She thought she’d always have a father. You thought you’d always have a brother.”
“I did, Hannah. And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to have him back again, even if it meant giving you up. I know I said the worst thing I ever did was walk away from you, but if I could trade places with him and spare you and Abby the pain you’ve suffered, give you back the life you wanted, I’d do it.”
“Don’t talk that way.” Suddenly scared of losing Wes too, I wriggled my arms free and threw them around his neck. “I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t. Hannah, you won’t.”
“I need you.” I clung to him, desperate to get as close as I could, craving the physical reassurance of his body.
“You have me.” His arms were warm and solid and strong. His voice held nothing but strength and certainty. “I’m here.”
I started kissing him everywhere I could—chest and shoulder and neck and throat and jaw. He took my head in his hands and sealed his lips over mine, a kiss that promised always and made me feel like it was real as long as I could feel him next to me. Our hands moved frantically over each other’s bodies. When our passion pushed us past the limits of resistance, and our clothing made us feel like we were trapped in two separate cages, Wes grabbed my hand and pulled me out the back door.
