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Running a hand over my face, I debate my next move, glancing down at the happy welcome mat decorated with frolicking dachshunds.
I realize I’ve been a coward. I’ve kept my distance from the Baileys, and I didn’t back up June when she confronted them about our relationship. The guilt still eats at me. She was so brave, so full of conviction as she stormed out of the apartment that morning whereas I had completely shut down. I was blank. Catatonic.
Useless.
And I feel just as useless right now as I stand here wondering what the hell I’m going to do.
Luckily, a decision is made for me when the door cracks open again.
This time, it’s Samantha on the other side of it.
I swallow, meeting her eyes—blue like June’s. She’s frumpy and makeup-less, looking like she’s slept just as little as I have over the last few days. I heave in a frail breath, and all I can manage to spit out is “I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry for tearing the family apart.
I’m sorry for ruining your daughter.
I’m sorry for betraying the two people who gave me a second chance at life.
I wonder if she can see everything I’m sorry for shining back at her as she pulls the door open a little bit more, taking a step toward the screen. Her face is a mask of remorse paired with indecision. She doesn’t know what to do. Her feelings aren’t as black and white as Andrew’s.
Inhaling deeply, she moves away from the screen. “Come in.”
Those two words sound like more than I deserve, but I let them inside; I let them burrow. I let them fill me with the only semblance of relief I’ve felt since the last time I fell asleep with June tucked in my arms, warm and soft and mine.
It’s not forgiveness, but it’s something.
A crumb.
And when you’ve lost everything that matters, a crumb might as well be a four-course meal.
Stepping into the house, I let the screen shut softly behind me as I stop just short of the living area. Samantha stands a few feet away, her arms crossed, her back to me. She pulls a pen out of her bun then clicks the end of it like a nervous habit.
When she spins around to face me, her arm drops to her side as she shakes her head. “I lost one child, but it feels like I’ve lost all three.”
My muscles contract, and my jaw clenches. I stare down at my shoes guiltily as a horrible, insidious feeling coils through me. I feel sick. “Samantha, I never meant to hurt anybody. You have to believe that.”
“Of course I believe that,” she says, still clicking her pen. “I raised you, and I know I raised a good man.” She pauses, letting out a long sigh. “But good men can still do really stupid things.”
When I glance up, she’s watching me with measured disappointment. I scrub a hand down my face again. “I fell in love with her,” I mutter softly. “And it never felt like a choice, it was just…effortless.”
“Loving someone may not be a choice, but acting on that feeling when you know it’s wrong is.”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
She’s right.
She’s absolutely right.
Hanging my head again, I plant my hands on my hips and close my eyes. “I realize this may not be fixable,” I say, sorrow lacing my words, “but you have to know that I did everything I could to prevent this from happening. I fought it, and I fought hard—but for all the stigma surrounding our relationship, for all the fucked-up technicalities that shadowed us, my feelings for her never felt wrong. She never felt wrong.” I’m breathing hard, my heart pumping fast. “And it’s really hard to keep fighting something that feels so goddamn right.”
Samantha stares at me, her expression softening just slightly. She stops clicking her pen to drink in my words, searching for her own.
But our conversation is interrupted when the patio door slides open and Andrew makes his way inside. He does a double take when he spots me, his eyes narrowing to pointed slits. “What the hell are you still doing here?”
Samantha answers quickly. “I let him in. He deserves a chance to explain himself.”
“He doesn’t deserve anything. An explanation that justifies what he did does not exist.” Andrew’s face is angry and red, the veins in his neck popping. I watch as he storms over to us through the kitchen and into the living room with indignation in his gait. He raises a finger to my face, moving in closer. “We took you in when you’d lost everything. We raised you.”
