How can I blame her when I am the reason Alex Offerman exists in our lives?
How could she keep this from me?
I want to hate her.
I want to kiss her.
I want to save her.
It’s evening by the time I roll up the Judge family driveway, and my heart is too heavy to do much more than shift into park. The motor hums as Hannah and I sit in silence. I’m sure Tommy is at our place by now, or he’s down the street, with Bailey.
“Am I the last to know?”
It’s the first thing I’ve uttered besides my screams of pain and fury out on that road. I didn’t even think my voice would work. The sound of it surprises me.
My chest is heavy, as though the steering wheel is driving through it, cracking my ribs and deflating my lungs, emptying my body of oxygen. I’m lifeless.
“No. I haven’t said the actual words to anyone yet, but Jorge . . . he figured it out. I’m sure my mom’s confirmed her suspicion. And Bailey. I had a bit of a breakdown.”
“Jorge figured it out.” I laugh out air, the sound faint and almost like a final breath.
Jorge’s cryptic speech before he climbed into that shuttle this morning, hours ago—a lifetime ago—they weren’t about meeting my mom and talking with her. It was about Hannah. About Bristol.
About this terrible, wonderful, amazing secret.
A wound.
A gift.
Whatever you two talk about today, whatever you may feel, be sure you listen and take it in before you react. If people’s stories were only a page long, there wouldn’t be books to read. Take in the entire arc. Understand the journey. It will be worth it, I swear.
I do understand. I see our story. At times, I’ve been the villain. Other times, it was Hannah. Never has it been Bristol. She’s the innocent.
“Can I see her?”
“Of course!” Hannah breathes out. I feel her eyes on me but I can’t look at her. I wish I could. I wish I could skip every step on the way to forgiveness. I wish I knew for certain that is where our story ends. I don’t.
“She’s probably asleep, so we’ll need to be quiet.” Hannah shifts in her seat and presses the latch on her safety belt. My eyes flit her direction enough to see it slide across her body. I immediately return my gaze to the windshield and the glare from her dad’s ugly light display.
“Okay. I want to see her through my open eyes. I need to.”
“Yes. I know,” she utters quickly.
How could you know? My inner voice rages. I keep it quiet. I choke it off.
My pulse races as my hand touches the door handle, and it only races more as I climb out of the car and follow Hannah toward the house.
The door isn’t locked as she enters, and I mentally chastise her parents for being so careless. Alex could come to this house. His men could walk right in. This door needs to be locked. Always.
“You’re back,” her mom whispers, rounding the couch and moving toward us. Tom cranes his neck as his wife slows her steps as her eyes meet mine.
Hannah was right. Her mom knows. And her dad does, too. What’s more is they see I know, too. I’m wearing the pain like a wet coat. I can’t help it. It smothers me.
“He wants to see Bristol. Say good night.” Hannah tucks her bottom lip under her top and I look away before she catches my gaze.
“Sure,” her mom whispers. “I just put her down. She had a full day with Grandpa. She insisted they buy more lights.”
I force a smile and Hannah huffs out a quiet laugh. I’m not sure why everything new I find out about my daughter hurts so much, but it does. She had an entire day that I was not a part of. She played with twinkle lights and made something uglier with Tom, and I missed it.
“We’ll be quiet,” Hannah says, leaning in to kiss her mom on the cheek. Her mom’s eyes meet mine, and for a brief second, my pain eases. Her soft smile as they part acts as a salve on my soul.
I’m here now. The journey will be worth it.
I follow Hannah up the stairs I’ve climbed a million times, tiptoeing to the bedroom I slept in for more than half my life. Somewhere along the way, my palm finds my mouth, covering it out of nerves and partly to help me remain quiet as a ghost.
The room is lit with a soft light from a tiny plastic pirate ship plugged into the wall, no doubt something Tom has kept in his garage for years. In the corner by Tommy’s window hangs the chimes I made for Hannah. It spins under the soft air blowing from the heat vent, catching the glimmer of the nightlight along its jagged edges. Hannah cleaned it up and now it shines, like copper and gold.
I glance to her and meet her eyes. It burns, and I can’t look into them for long, but I give her a soft nod, letting her know I noticed. This is why she wanted to have my ugly metal sculpture so badly. She wanted a piece of me near our daughter.
I step close to the bed, Bristol bundled in the same blanket I used to lay out on Tommy’s floor. His full-sized bed swallows her up. She’s a speck amid the crumpled sheets and pillows. She’s perfect. She’s precious. She’s a living and breathing part of me.
Slowly, I get to my knees, inching forward until my arms rest on the mattress. Hannah remains by the door, giving me this space and time.
“Hi,” I whisper, my voice soft enough that I doubt it will wake her. Maybe she’ll hear me in her dreams. I can’t wait until morning, until I can talk to her for real. I’m terrified as much as I’m elated.
Her dark brown hair swirls around her head, just like her mother’s. I move my fingers toward one of the strands and weave it around my knuckle, amazed at how soft and sleek it is against my rough skin. The wave of hair slips through my grasp and I find another, letting it do the same thing.
“She’s perfect,” I whisper, knowing Hannah is still here and listening.
“She is,” she answers.
Her tiny nostrils wiggle with each breath and I swear I can feel her heartbeat through the mattress. Her lips pucker, forming a tiny O. Her skin is pale and her tiny fingernails are dotted with bright pink polish. I take one of her fingers in my hand, unable to keep myself from touching her.
“My mom did that,” Hannah whispers over my shoulder. “We’re lucky she hasn’t pierced her ears yet.”
I laugh silently, and tears prick my eyes. I’ve never cried so much in my life, and never for so many different reasons. I’m caught in a storm that has flung my heart from joy to sorrow and back again, tumbling it around like a sand dollar caught in the ocean’s undertow.
“I’ll give you a minute. I’ll be in my room,” Hannah says, her fingers brushing my shoulder. I barely feel her touch. Every ounce of my heart currently beats for the baby girl sleeping in front of me.
I wait until I no longer hear her steps behind me before I allow my hand to graze along her face. I’m gentle, and when she stirs, I pull my hand away and fall back on my shins. I hold my breath until I’m sure she’s fast asleep.
“Tomorrow is going to be a big day for both of us,” I whisper. Her lips pucker with a breath.
“I hope you’re okay with the news. I’ve been told I’m an acquired taste.” I chuckle silently as I let my mind wander through a future filled with trouble—me teaching Bristol how to barrel down a hill in the snow up north, she and I practicing shifting on her first car, the two of us lying on our backs and waiting for falling stars to light up the sky during a meteor shower. I see it all.