Page 28 of Home Is Where You Are

Tossing my phone on the nightstand, I threw myself onto my bed, and buried my head into the pillow as gut-wrenching sobs escaped. I cried for the loss of my baby girl. I cried for the loss of the past four years with my family. And I cried for the young girl who had so much hope for the future that was shattered in an instant.

I let the sobs come and didn’t try to choke them down for the first time in four years.

A knock on my door so light I almost didn’t hear it caused me to lift my head and listen to make sure I wasn’t hearing things that weren’t there. Another light tap sounded, and I walked over to the door as I tried to rein in my emotions. I wiped the tears from my face and collected myself as best as I could before I opened the door to find Gentry standing there, concern etched on his face as he took in the sight of me.

“Oh, butterfly,” he said, his voice breaking, as he stepped inside my room and pulled me into his arms.

I didn’t want him to see me cry again, but the moment his arms wove around me, I fully broke, sobbing into his cotton shirt.

He let me cry; for how long, I wasn’t sure. It could’ve been a minute. It could've been an hour. But time stood still as he held me in his arms.

“Come out to the loft with me,” he said. I wasn’t sure if it was a suggestion or a demand, but he held his hand out behind him for me to take. I slipped my hand into his and let him lead the way.

The house was dark as we walked through it by memory. He opened the back door for me, and we walked through it before he closed it behind us.

I wrapped my arm around my stomach to ward off the chill of the night air. We walked into the barn, my mind heavy as he gently pulled me in front of him to lead the way up the stairs into the loft.

Gentry’s breath hitched behind me as I got to the top of the stairs.

I turned to face him to find out what caused him to make that sound to find his face had gone pale.

Before I could speak, he reached around and opened the door to his room, his hand on the small of my back as he guided me inside. He shut the door behind him, and I turned to face him. His back rested against the door, his breathing was heavy, and his face was still pale as he stared at me.

“Are you okay?” I asked as I stepped toward him. Worry marred my face as I waited for him to respond.

“Turn around,” he choked out, as tears streamed down his face. Right then it clicked in my head why he’d grown pale.

The black ink that I’d etched into my skin the second I arrived in Virginia.

I turned around so he could look at the tattoo on my shoulder.

Moments passed before he finally spoke.

“It’s so realistic and beautiful,” he said on a shaky breath as his hand began tracing the outline of my tattoo.

Goosebumps peppered my skin as his fingers moved across my shoulder.

“I wanted a piece of her always with me. Her hand on my shoulder makes me feel like she’s always there, guiding me down the right path. I also have her footprint on top of my foot so she can always guide me where I need to go,” I confessed. I’d never told another soul the reasoning behind the tattoos. Not even the designer, who’d perfectly replicated her hand and footprints. No one other than the artist and myself had seen it since I had them done. And I was glad he was the first.

He rested his head on my shoulder, and I felt his tears hit the skin on my back where her handprint was. He broke down behind me as he pulled me toward him and held onto me for dear life. It was my turn to comfort him.

Turning around, I pulled him into me so I could hold him through his tears. Together we cried. Together we grieved for the daughter we’d lost.

Pulling away from him, I placed my fingers on either side of his face and wiped his tears away.

“I’m so sorry, Gentry,” I said through my tears. I was sorrier than he’d ever know.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m uh … gonna go take a shower now,” he said as he pulled away and moved around me to go to the bathroom.

I hated that he didn’t say anything else, but it was my fault. I’d pushed him to this. I’d made him suffer alone. I’d made him grieve a loss we should’ve grieved together.

He should hate me.

Because right now, in this moment, I hated myself for what I’d done to him.

eleven

GENTRY