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"You can't protect me from finding out I have a daughter. This is my failure."
"You didn't fail at anything."
"But I did, James." Another cry rocked my body. "I failed as a mother."
"No, you fucking didn't!"
How could I cope with this? I gave birth to a child, a girl that I grew in my body for months, brought her into this world, fed her at my breast, and all it took to forget her was one little bruise on my temple.
Oh, Dear Lord, forgive me for this sin.
"What kind of mother am I?"
"Rita, you had an accident; you've been through a trauma. Fuck, you’re still going through a severe trauma."
"I know..." It didn’t make anything better though. It didn’t matter if I got my memories back or not; how could I look into the eyes of that child and tell her that her mother forgot her? "I can't stop crying, James; it feels like my heart was punched by Mike Tyson."
"Can I hold you?"
"Please," I said, nodding with tears pouring down my face like it was rainy season.
He walked behind me and zipped off my dress and pealed it down my body slowly, like he was taking a doll out of the wrapper. He squatted down and took my ankles in his hands, making me step out of the dress, then looked up at me.
Earlier when I found the lingerie set, I felt a little embarrassed that he had to pick out panties for me, but now that I see the fire in his eyes, that feeling is gone.
"Take off your shoes, dear, and I'll bring your robe," he said, gulping.
He bundled me in the plush robe, and we went back to the bed where I lay down on his chest.
"I'll leave mascara on your shirt."
"Fuck the shirt. Cry all you want, dear, just get better."
His understanding and patience only made me feel more sadness. I didn’t deserve all this.
"How old is she?"
"Nine months old. Her name is Chelsea Alexandria Sullivan, and she is the most beautiful thing in the whole wide world."
The admiration in his voice warmed my insides. At least this child had one good parent that could love her no matter what.
"She's really a baby."
"Yes."
"We named her after Saint Alexander. I had a grandfather who had that name."
"I... know," he answered in a weird way, but I was too deep in sobs to care. "Don't worry; you'll love her all over again when you see her. It's impossible not to."
I was too afraid to ask what if I don't. The horrific thought of not feeling anything for my own child was too much for me right then. If I let my mind go there, I wouldn’t be able to have control over my actions anymore.
"Try to calm yourself, love."
"Where is she now?"
"Home, with her nanny. Usually she's not alone so much without us, but it was a special occasion."
"What was it?"
