Page 82 of Hold You Close
Ian and I will never work cross-country. He has his club so there’s not a chance in hell he’s coming to New Jersey. I’m going to have to leave the kids that I love more than my own life. It’s just . . . impossible.
How do I choose?
How do I give up the man I love or the job I love?
My phone dings with a text.
* * *
Ian: Come over! Quick! 911!
Me: On my way!
* * *
I rush out the door, not even caring what the hell I’m wearing. I forget shoes in my haste to get there . . . and pants. “Ouch!” I yell as I step on a rock, but keep going.
As fast as I can, I pull the patio door open. “Ian!”
“Up here!”
I race up the stairs, my legs quivering in fear, and pain from the rock, to find him outside the bathroom door.
“What’s wrong?”
Ian lifts his shoulders. “Where are your pants?”
“You said 911, I ran out the door!”
“In your underwear?”
Does he seriously want to discuss my lack of clothing?
“Focus. What’s wrong?”
“Oh.” He snaps out of it. “Morgan, she’s been in here a while. I called for her a few times, but she refuses to come out. Keeps crying and telling me to go away. Then, I tried checking on her a few minutes later, and she screamed at me that all she wants is her mom. So I panicked and called you right away.”
Oh, God. This poor girl.
“Morgan?” I tap softly.
“Aunt London?” Morgan sniffles.
“I’m here, what’s wrong, honey?”
My heart is breaking, thinking she’s in pain or something is wrong, that she needs Sabrina. These are the moments there’s no guidebook to help us handle.
“I’m unlocking the door,” she says. “Only you can come in!”
Ian backs away so Morgan doesn’t see him.
“Okay, only me.”
When the door opens, I see immediately what’s wrong. Morgan got her period for the first time. Her eyes are red from crying so hard, and her clothes are in the sink while she’s wrapped in a towel.
“Don’t be scared,” I tell her quickly.
“I . . . I don’t know what to do . . .”
