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The sound of her footsteps receding down the hall is the last thing I hear as my eyes close and sleep envelopes me.
I yawn, stretching as I take in my surroundings. It’s been two weeks since I returned home from the hospital, and everything has been wonderful so far. Falling asleep has been so much easier with my family here to make sure everything is taken care of.
Lately, I’ve been happier than I have ever been. I never knew how much I was missing the joys of a tight-knit family until my baby came into our lives. With every passing day, it’s become clear I have made the right choice in choosing to have him. I’m done running away and doing things on my own.
I get out of bed, looking at the alarm clock on the bedside table to see it is a few minutes to midnight. I peer in the crib, smiling when I’m greeted with my baby’s peaceful face.
“My little Camillo,” I say with a soft smile. “If only your dad was here to see you.”
In the first few days, I tried hard not to think of Enzo, choosing instead to focus on the future, but it was impossible. My love for him had not waned despite the time we’ve been apart.
Funny how I miss you every day still… I wish things were different. I wish you were here to see our perfect angel.
So far, I’ve been managing my life in the best way possible, working hard to make sure I can be a mother my son can be proud of. I’ve been consistent with therapy even on days when I didn’t care to be probed. I wanted to make sure I would be someone my son could count on.
Alessia had mentioned Enzo had begun therapy. Although I was curious, conversations regarding him are purposefully limited, so I can heal. During my pregnancy, I had missed him so much; there had been times when I was tempted to call him, and I had to physically stop myself. My feelings hadn’t changed yet. Hoping will only lead to more disappointment if things don’t go my way. I hope he comes to his senses, and we can be back together again after this time apart… not just for my son, but because I love him.
My hand tightens on the crib rail as I strengthen my resolve. Although I would rather be with him, I’m resigned to this being the end for us if, unlike me, he doesn’t put in the effort to be healed and worthy of being around our child.
I will not put my feelings above your well-being, Camillo. I promise you.
24
Enzo
“Imiss her. I really can’t get over her, Dr. Wilburn,” I admit, the words sounding muffled as they escape my lips. The issue is lingering in the air of my therapist’s office.
Dr. Sheila Wilburn is a striking woman, old enough to be my mother, exuding an aura of confidence wrapped in a polished demeanor. Her attire exudes sophistication, each piece meticulously chosen, hinting at the depth of her character. She's not one to shy away from the raw, painful truths. Instead, she confronts them head-on, much like the way she handles our sessions. Her piercing gaze was gentle yet probing.
"Enzo, it's not unusual to miss someone," she calmly replies, her tone carrying an undercurrent of concern while emphasizing the importance of understanding why you miss them and whether the reason stems from something healthy.
Healthy?
"How can missing someone who left me be healthy?" I blurt out, my voice tinged with frustration. The notion seems absurd, as if longing for someone who's chosen to walk away could ever be beneficial.
Dr. Wilburn leans back in her chair, her eyes fixed on mine, her expression a mix of empathy and wisdom. "Missing someone isn't always about their physical presence, Enzo. Sometimes, it's about the emotional connection, the memories, and the parts of yourself you associate with a person. It's a reflection of what they meant to you. And don’t forget you played your fair share in sending her away; she did not just leave you."
I listen attentively, trying to wrap my head around her words. Memories of Kelly flood my mind: the laughter, the warmth, the love once intertwined our lives. But amid those tender recollections, the regrets, the mistakes, and the fractures ultimately led to our separation.
"But what if missing them only serves as a reminder of my failures, of everything I did wrong?" I countered, my voice laden with the weight of my self-condemnation.
Dr. Wilburn offers a gentle smile, her gaze unwavering. "Acknowledging your mistakes is the first step toward growth, Enzo. It's about learning from them, understanding why things went awry, and striving to become a better version of yourself. Sometimes, missing someone catalyzes introspection and change."
Her words strike a chord within me, resonating with a truth I've been grappling to accept. The ache of missing Kelly isn't merely a lament for what has been lost; it's a mirror reflecting my shortcomings.
"But how do I know if missing her is holding me back or propelling me forward?" I inquire, uncertainty lingering in my voice. The fine line between clinging onto the past and using it as a stepping stone for the future seems very narrow.
Dr. Wilburn leans forward, her demeanor exuding reassurance. "That's where self-reflection comes in, Enzo. It's about discerning whether this longing is hindering your progress or spurring you to make positive changes. It's okay to miss someone, but it's crucial to channel emotion in constructive growth."
I nod slowly, absorbing her words while wrestling with my tangled emotions. It's been a tumultuous journey since I lost Kelly. The realization dawns on me: the ache in my heart isn't merely a reminder of what I've lost; it's a compass guiding me toward who I can become.
Dr. Wilburn and I step out of her office, the door creaking shut behind us. She turns to me, her eyes reflecting a maternal concern. "How's the center going, Enzo? Have you adjusted to it?"
"The community center's doing great," I reply, a touch of pride in my voice. "I've settled into this new routine pretty well."
Her gaze lingers on me for a moment, probing deeper. "That's good to hear. Change takes time, Enzo. It's okay to take things slow and find your rhythm," she remarks, her voice carrying a subtle encouragement.
Adjustment. Finding my rhythm.
