Prologue
Three years earlier...
~Ethan~
I took the stationery the home health nurse brought and I placed it in front of me. The blank white pages lay there, staring up and mocking me as I struggled to begin. I didn’t have much time. Clare would be gone for only a short time and I needed to get this out, to tell her how I feel. Telling her now, in person, would only cause her pain. She wouldn’t understand and would only lash out in anger.
I held the pen to the page, struggling to begin.
How do you tell the woman you love to move on? To love again? The thought of her with someone else tore me up inside, but the thought of her alone forever was worse.
So this is what I had to do for her. She’d been so strong for me for far too long, and it was time I gave that back. Eventually, she would need it.
Eventually, she would find someone who would make her want to love again, and I would be there for her, telling her it’s okay.
Finally, my pen met the paper and I began to write. I poured my soul out to the woman I loved.
The woman I had to leave behind.
Chapter One
~Clare~
"Miss? Do you need to see a doctor?" the emergency room attendant asked. My eyes roamed the familiar sterile walls, taking me back to the last time I’d stood in this very room. When they’d told me he...
Don’t think about it. Don’t even go there.
“Miss?”
I don’t even know why she was asking. Why else would I be standing here? The vomit smell, the wild look in my eyes and the crying child in my arms wasn’t enough of an answer for her?
"Yes, my daughter fell...she's been throwing up the whole way here. I...I think she might have a concussion," I managed to say while juggling said daughter in one arm and printing her name on the sign-in sheet on the counter with the other. I pushed back a piece of my auburn hair with my freed up hand, and exhaled in exhaustion.
Nodding, the middle-aged woman with the sandy brown hair and a nametag that said “Tammy” began to take our information, slapped those uncomfortable hospital bracelets on both our wrists and ushered us into the waiting room, assuring me it wouldn’t be too long a wait. Hopefully the walls wouldn’t close in on me before we got called back. I hated this place.
I sat us down in the far corner, making sure there was plenty of space between us and the other patients waiting their turn. No one needed to be sitting near this train wreck. My nerves were shot and I was still shaking like a leaf from our harrowing drive. I'm fairly sure I’d broken a number of traffic laws getting us here, but when your child was in the backseat, recreating a scene from the Exorcist, traffic tickets seemed a little less important. I knew in the back of my mind that it was most likely a normal, run of the mill concussion, and she just needed to be examined. I should have been calmer, but as soon as she began getting sick on the couch at home, I freaked out. I think it’s a mom thing, we can’t help it. It’s our job to panic. That’s what I kept telling myself at least.
I looked down at my Maddie, my four-year-old monster, currently dressed completely in pink, all of which was covered in dried vomit. She was holding onto my shirt with a tight fist, her tiny head resting against my chest. She was still sniffling from tears that had long since dried. The beautiful curly strawberry blonde hair that she’d inherited from me was a matted mess, sticking up in every direction. Her left thumb was purposely stuck in her mouth, her preferred method of calming when she was upset. I desperately tried not to think about whether or not that thumb had come in contact with anything projecting out of her mouth. Gross.
"I swear, child...you're gonna give me a heart attack before I turn 30," I said while absently running my hands through her disheveled hair, and gazing into the brown eyes that reminded me so much of the man I’d loved. My eyes were a deep green, but Maddie’s were the color of her father’s, dark chestnut brown.
The last two hours were a blur and I was still trying to recover. Parenthood was never-ending and exhausting. Being a single parent was even more so.
I hadn’t planned on the single part.
“Ethan, please don’t leave me!”
The memory of that night came rushing back. I remembered finding him unconscious and barely breathing, the ambulance, and the hysteria as they wheeled him in. Standing in this waiting room when the doctor came out and...no. I couldn’t do this right now. No one needed to see an emotional breakdown in the ER waiting room. Again.
“What's a heart attack?” Maddie mumbled weakly against my chest.
“It's like throwing up, but waaaaaaaaay worse,” I said jokingly in an attempt to lift her spirits. Mine too, maybe.
“Oh,” she whispered back. I could see her sheepish smile peek through for a second before it disappeared. Mission accomplished. At least she still thought I was funny.
Today began as any other day. Maddie had preschool this morning, and when we got home in the afternoon, she told me about all the adventures she’d had at school. I’d listened and said “Oooh,” and “Wow!” at all the right moments, making her feel like she was the most important person in the world, because she was. At least in my world.
Later, she’d gone upstairs to play dress-up in one of her many ballerina costumes. She twirled around, a vision in pink, telling me she was going to be the bestest ballerina ever.
"Baby, you already are the best ballerina I know!"
"Well duh, Mommy!" she replied. Such sass. I had no idea where she got that from. Absolutely none. She must have inherited that one from her father. Definitely not me. Nope.
I left her in her bedroom to be ballerina extraordinaire while I ran around the house picking up the epic mess a young child managed to create when I heard it...that heart-wrenching sound no parent wants to experience. I raced upstairs after hearing her hit the floor. As a parent, you learn quickly that the more delayed the scream, the worse it’s going to be. It’s like the child is working through the shock and winding their way up to the scream. It felt like a full hour before I heard that blood curdling scream. I was already at her bedroom door.
“Baby, are you okay?” I picked her up and brought her into my arms. Looking back, I realize that was probably not the most intelligent thing to do. Aren't you supposed to leave them still in case of spinal damage or something? I don't know...my parental instinct was to pick her up, so that’s what I did. She cried and I consoled. This went on for a few minutes, and then she calmed down a bit so we could talk.