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Nodding, the tears keep pouring. My poor sweet girl. Her innocence forever stolen. It’s a sight I’ve struggled to put behind me. And I’m an adult who has seen despicable things on the news, as well as in the emergency room. No child should ever witness such a thing. “She… She… was pale as a ghost. Screaming uncontrollably.” Her blood-curdling cries are the soundtrack of my every nightmare. “It’s practically the only sound of Myla’s I can remember. She hasn’t spoken a word since.”
Luca pulls me in tightly, rocking me in his arms. “Oh, Cucciolotta.”
We stay like this for a few long moments. His strong arms creating a protective cocoon around me as he holds me tightly against his muscular chest. As my crying subsides, I feel oddly relieved having shared this gruesome tale with him. If nothing else, he’ll finally understand the extent of the damage our shattered family’s been left with.
“Jillian?”
“Yes?”
“Please forgive me for what I’m about to say.”
I stay quiet, worried where he’s turning this ship.
“I don’t say this lightly. My heart…” He pauses. “My heart, my family, we’ve been torn apart by suicide too. My mother’s depression became too much for her. I came home from work to find she’d taken all of her medication while we were going about our normal day.”
Shocked, I sit upright wanting to give him my full attention. “Luca...” How could this be possible? That both of our lives have been shrouded by something so horrific?
My mind grabs on to the oddest factoid. I recall attending a couple of suicide support group meetings not long after it happened. I wasn’t ready to fully participate, but some of the statistics were mind-blowing. They’d quoted that over 700,000 people globally commit suicide each year. And that’s just the ones that were successful. Many more make attempts. And I’m sure others die at their own hands, but no one realizes, assuming it’s a drug overdose or accidental ingestion of a toxin. It shouldn’t be surprising that the ripple effect is so vast.
“There’s too much sadness in the world. I shouldn’t judge your husband for what he did. He was too distraught to think clearly. But mental illness or not, there’s no excuse for anyone doing something like that knowing their wife and children would be the ones to find them. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, butI’m angry that he couldn’t have done more to shield you and his children.”
He gets it. I’ve been stuck in this place for so long. Hurting for the man I loved. Knowing he was in so much pain he felt he had no other choice. But equally enraged that he would leave us to pick up all of the bloody pieces.
I’ll never know why. Our visits were so brief, I’m not sure I would’ve seen the signs of clinical depression. Had moving in with him tipped him over the edge? Did being a husband and father cause him so much discomfort, he felt he had no way out? Was he seeing someone else and felt trapped? I don’t believe that’s the case, but I’ve learned the hard way that you never really know anyone.
Questions like these can’t help but make the strongest person question their worth. But I only had time to focus on Myla and Caleb. After frantically calling my mother, she flew out to help us get packed up. The Army police tried to be kind and help us to get somewhere safe until she arrived. But it was clear from day one, we didn’t belong there. We weren’t part of the military. Merely the family of one of their soldiers. And once he was gone, there was little effort made to assist us further.
I spent countless hours on the phone once we returned home, trying to assess any benefits the children would be entitled to. I honestly wanted nothing more than to put food on the table and eventually find a way to pay for college. But our life had been reduced to utter madness.
“Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’m surprised how freeing it is to share this with you. I never talk about it.”
“But you should. Did you see anyone, to get help dealing with all of it? You and the kids?”
“We tried for a while. But it didn’t really seem to make a difference.” I don’t know if anything would’ve helped backthen. It was too soon to process it all. The heartache was overwhelming, made worse having it happen the way it did. “I saw two different therapists, but I didn’t really connect with either of them. Plus, I was so focused on Myla and Caleb, it was hard to relax enough to worry about me.”
Instead, I poured all of my energy into helping the kids, moving back in with Mom, and getting my old job back. That and making it to the finish line of my pregnancy and delivering a healthy baby. Once Truitt arrived, there simply wasn’t time in our schedules to continue therapy if we weren’t seeing any positive results.
“I have a number for a new doctor that comes highly recommended. Mom said it might be good for Myla to see I’m trying to take control of my health. So maybe she’ll try again too.”
Luca continues to rub my back, listening attentively. I’m sure he’s wondering what he’s gotten himself into. “You and the children are doing amazing. I think your mother is right. It might be good for you to try again. But don’t downplay how far you’ve come. Even Myla. She’s so sweet and loving. I have no doubt she’ll speak when she’s ready. Farfalla has too much to offer the world to stay quiet.”
I push up on my elbow. “Why do you call her that?”
“Butterfly?” His grin is immediate. “That’s what Myla reminds me of. She’s quiet and beautiful, fluttering in the background, helping anyone who needs her.”
He’s right. I’d never considered that before.
“Healing from something like this takes a long time, Jillian. I found my mother ten years ago. It was only her and her empty bottles of pills. But we all knew she was depressed. We tried to help.” He pauses. “Just not hard enough. All of the questions I’ll never have answers to… they still keep me awake at night and it was nothing like what the two of you witnessed.”
“Luca, I’m so sorry. No child should have to…” But my mind goes to Myla, and I have to hold my tongue. I loved my husband. But I’m not ready to forgive him for allowing her to witness that. For putting any of us through seeing that. His loss would’ve been hard enough without the horrifically traumatic way he did it.
“Yes. I watched my father destroy my mother. She wanted to take us and leave, but he wouldn’t allow it. He had affairs with other women and never bothered to hide it. He was involved in awful things, and she knew. It ate her alive that there was nothing she could do to stop it. She only wanted out, but he wouldn’t let her. She became so depressed. I’m certain she felt she had no other choice. Because of this, I’m able to forgive my mother. I only wish I could forgive myself.”
“Luca.” I hold his hand in mine a little tighter. “What could you have done?”
“I don’t know.” He shifts under me. It feels this conversation has become too much for one night. “But I should’ve done something. I could tell it was getting worse.” He rubs his hands agitatedly through his dark strands. “I won’t allow my sister to ever feel she has no other option.”
