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Tears slid down my face. My hand rested on my chest like it did so many mornings. No light shone behind the curtains. Only the sounds of birds chirping told me it was morning.
For a moment, I felt the warmth of a baby. The scent lingering in the air. The life that was jerked from my grasp.
It took me a minute to realize it had been a dream. Sometimes late at night or just before I woke, when sleep was still clinging to me, I’d be hit with such a visceral dream that it would rip me awake.
The worst ones weren’t about my dead husband. Instead, it was the dreams of a baby. They were so real I’d feel her weight on my chest as I held her. Her tiny arms wrapped around my neck. Her sweet baby smell filling my senses.
And, like today, I’d wake up with tears in my eyes, gasping for air as I realized it wasn’t true.
But I could still feel her.
I existed briefly in the dream. In the love I so desperately wanted. Before, I threw off the covers and started the day.
The dreams had been getting more vivid. Ever since my friend Isla announced she was expecting. The idea of having a baby consumed me. I went to bed thinking about it. Woke up thinking about it.
It was on my mind as I tried to fill my day with mundane tasks. Scratching at my soul while I read a book. This persistent yearning never went away.
Trying to go back to sleep was pointless. My mind would only be plagued with more nightmares. The worst was of losing her before I’d even really had her.
My footsteps were soft as I walked across my room to the bathroom. I’d learned to keep my steps quiet. It was always better to go unnoticed. Even a year after my husband’s death, I still found myself creeping around the house. My heart racing as I waited for him to appear from the darkness.
I wondered if it would ever go away.
I ignored the view of the sun rising from the wall of windows. A bathtub sat just below them, with a separate shower. On the other side was a room with a toilet. But the view still mocked me in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, avoiding my gaze.
When I was done, I went around the mirror to the big closet. There were no mirrors in here, so I didn’t have to look at myself as I stripped off my pajamas. Didn’t have to see the scars that marred my body or the memories that went with them.
Each one a mark I’d supposedly deserved. Each one a sign of my weakness. My inability to fight. To run. To escape.
I’d spent years learning to avoid mirrors. My reflection. And eventually, I started to feel like I didn’t exist.
It messes with your mind when you no longer see yourself as a person. I’m just a void. Empty wishes and pain.
I dressed in what I saw as my uniform. A modest dress in a neutral color with sleeves down to my wrists and a hem just below my knee. It had a crew neckline, not displaying an inch of my ample cleavage. The only formality I’d forgone since Mitchell’s death was the tights.
I slipped my feet into a set of low heels. I would’ve preferred higher, but there was nothing else in my closet. My eyes fell to the empty side where Mitchell’s things used to hang. Thank god I’d been able to play it off as grief when I donated it all.
But it didn’t stop the memories. His scent still hung in the air. A dark red stain on the carpet reminded me of the kind of man he was.
I fought to keep my gaze away from it, like I tried to shove down the memories as I walked from the room. The house was quiet as I descended the stairs. My fingers glided along the metal railing, and I was greeted with more windows as I reached the lower floor, which held the living area.
The stairs opened into a large living room and kitchen. Down the hall was the office, a bathroom, and another empty room that I would’ve loved to turn into a craft area, but I hadn’t been allowed. The kitchen led to a spacious dining room with more windows. In front of the kitchen, there was an entry and an elevator that led to the parking garage and other apartments. We occupied the top two floors, with three bedrooms and their own baths on the upper floor.
I moved around the kitchen, getting coffee ready. My phone buzzed, and I picked it up, looking for a distraction. My heart clenched when I say the name of my newest sister-in-law flashing on the screen. Isla was sassy and fun, but I hadn’t spoken to her in days. It wasn’t difficult to discern the reason.
I felt horrible, so instead of ignoring her again, I answered. “Hi.”
“Good morning! I knew you’d be up.” Her happiness seeped through the phone. And I hated myself even more because she deserved it. But her joy still crushed my soul. “I wanted to ask you a favor. Please say no, if it’s too much. But I was hoping you’d help me pick out baby stuff.”
The breath rushed from my body. It felt like a knife was piercing my lungs. Then it was being dragged through my guts because I was an asshole for not being happy for her.
“Is that horrible?” I heard the concern in her voice when I didn’t respond.
“Of course not.” I swallowed down the pain. I wanted to help. Wanted to feel joy in adding a baby to the family. “Actually, why don’t I throw you a shower?”
“No, you don’t have to do that. It’s too much.”
“You deserve it.” She really did. Her life hadn’t been any easier than mine. I shouldn’t let my deficiencies stop me from celebrating this moment. “I want to do it.”
