Page 53 of Shattered Dreams

And those aren’t only my words. I’ve received multiple updates from her teachers already, and they even spoke to me a few times to tell me how impressed they are with her. She’s thrilled. She loves school. I can hardly get her to sleep at night because she’s so excited about going back.

Keeping busy is good. I think the busier she is, the more friends she makes, the more things she does that she enjoys, she’ll be able to process and move on from the loss she’s experienced. Of course, she will never forget her mother, the same way I’ll never forget her, but it’s true that time heals all wounds. It’ll always be sad thinking about her, but the sadness isn’t all-consuming as it once was. And I've realized that it’s okay.

This stuff with Paul, however, has messed me up a bit. I haven’t said anything to him, and I don’t think he has noticed. Mostly because I didn’t want my trauma and my own insecurities to mess anything up between us.

At first, everything was great. But then one day I realized what was going on between us was… different. Because somehow it got pretty serious, and I don’t even know when that happened.

We have this perfect familial routine with us and the kids. I’m at the point where I’m wondering if we should tell people what’s going on? I mean, I’m not sure I even know what’s going on. It’s not something we’ve talked about. I’m not sure if he’s avoiding it, or maybe I am? I don’t know. I just feel like I know what we’re doing, and I can’t say I don’t like it, because I do, but is that all this is? Are we just messing around for the hell of it? It doesn’t feel that way. It feels pretty serious.

Obviously, before we talk to anyone else, though, we need to talk to each other. Get on the same page.

So it’s a good thing the kids are going to my mom’s tonight. It’s the first night they’ve both slept over her house again since school has started. We’ve all just been so busy, and with Amelia and Paul back to their normal schedule, Maddox isn’t around as much anymore. Which is good, in a way. He should be with his mother. That’s important. But I see how torn he is to go back and forth sometimes, and how much Paul misses him when he’s gone. Rylee, too.

I blink and realize the light in front of me is green. I hardly remember getting to this point, I was so in my head about everything going on. I glance at the clock. I left school about twenty minutes ago, hitting unexpected traffic. It never happens this late at night, but of course tonight it did. The kids will likely already be at my mom’s by the time I get home. They were anxious to head over there, and even though I wanted Rylee to wait so I could see her, she was happy to go, so I didn’t want to make her wait. I’ll see her tomorrow.

Paul’s car isn’t in the driveway when I get home. It’s about eight, and I’m sure he’s on his way back from dropping the kids off.

I find a plate of food in the microwave for me, so I heat it up and sit down to eat, noticing Rylee’s newest project hanging on the fridge. It’s a calendar with the days of the week, all colored in with pinks and purples. On each day is what I assume are different foods, because that does look like pizza on Monday. Though it could also be a sun with weird eyes. Who knows.

The microwave beeps, and I sit at the island, staring at the drawing and getting that weird feeling in my chest again. Whenever Rylee does something new, I feel this awful sense of guilt that Victoria is missing out on it. I try not to; I know she wouldn’t want that, but it’s not always easy to control your emotions.

The front door opens and closes.

“Hey,” I say. “How was your day?”

“I’m exhausted,” Paul answers as he hangs up his keys and toes off his shoes, leaving his beat-up sneakers by the door. He comes over to sit beside me, resting his head on my shoulder and sighing.

I eat as he rests against me, neither of us saying anything else. And we don’t have to. It’s not weird to just sit here like this with him. It’s relaxing. Comfortable.

When I’m done, he sits up and I wash my plate in the sink.

“Is this a menu?” I ask, pointing to Rylee’s drawing.

Paul huffs. “Yeah. They were practicing the days of the week, and she was told to draw something she wanted to do every day. Her answer was eat.”

I laugh. Only my kid.

“I guess that’s smart. Eating is a necessity.”

“That’s what I told her. She’s a smart girl.”

Paul gets up and comes over to me. I step back and he boxes me in against the counter.

“How was your day?” His voice is low, gravelly.

“Good,” I answer, swallowing hard. “I was hoping we could talk though.”

His brows shoot up. “You want to talk?”

“I mean, there are a lot of things I want to do, but yeah, I want to talk.”

His gaze narrows at me for a moment, then there’s a slight frown on his face as he steps back. I note the momentary flash of panic on his face, so I grab his arm, pulling him to me.

“It’s nothing bad.”

He nods against me. He seems tired as hell today. More than usual. It’s the end of the week, so I get it. Being a gym teacher and coaching three nights a week is hard work. We’re moving all day, and trying to keep kids in line is a full time job on its own. These kids are ruthless.

I take Paul’s hand and lead us back to the stools at the island, and we sit, facing each other with our knees brushing.