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I nod my head, grateful that Em still cares enough to help me during my lowest time. And hopefully, care enough to help me find the woman I love.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Flynn never returned liked he promised.
Time’s lost on me. Minutes dragging on while I sit here in my own personal hell.
My thoughts become a broken record. Replaying the last eight, nine, or whatever the fuck it was, months in my head, trying to pinpoint exactly how I got here.
In the dead-silent room, I can hear her breathing—soft, almost like a flutter and eerily harmonious.
It’s dark, night has fallen, and the silence disappears as my cell vibrates against the glass coffee table. It’s Flynn.
“I can’t get out of here.” The noise is loud, people and music blaring through the speaker making it difficult to understand him. “Hold on, let me move somewhere quieter.”
Impatiently, I wait for him to talk, sitting on the sofa with the baby beside me. We have done this for most of the day—sitting, sleeping, drinking the formula that Em helped me prepare, three dumps and repeat. Oh, and one violent burp that results in puke all over my shirt.
I stink and am utterl
y exhausted. I haven’t had a single bite to eat. Each time I leave the room, it’s almost like she senses it, crying loudly until I cradle and rock her back to sleep. I manage to down several bottles of water, dehydrated and barely managing to stay still. The surge of adrenaline followed by withdrawals makes it difficult to think straight.
“Okay, I’m back. Look, I’m sorry… they want me here for the rest of the night.”
“Just tell me where she is,” I demand, curling my fist into a ball to curb my anger toward him. “I need to find her.”
“Wes, I seriously don’t know. In the letter, she told me she couldn’t raise the baby. She thought the baby needed love, and she couldn’t give it. She apologized and said she needed to be on her own for a while.”
With bated breath, I release, “She wouldn’t, you know, do anything. Would she?”
I had been there, standing on the ledge ready to end my life. I could almost see the fucker, his dark cloak draping over his face, luring me into his sweet hell.
The first night with Milana, when I took her to the cemetery, I wanted her to see the dark abyss I had found myself trapped in. She had to fucking save me from myself. So, I knew, first hand, how easily we fall into a dark place.
“Stop.” Flynn’s voice wavers. “She loves Mom too much. She wouldn’t want to inflict pain. She’s around, and knowing Milana, she’ll find her way back to Mom.”
Of course, I should have known that. If there is one thing that should have been clear as day, it’s Milana’s love for her mother. Something I can’t grasp.
Family. What the fuck is that again?
But then again, I know very little about her. I was a fucking fool to let her go. I wanted this perfect soul to guide me back and couldn’t fathom anyone needing me.
“I have to go. You can find her, Wes, she loves you. She’ll never admit it, but she never got over you. The baby was just… not planned. That’s what stopped her coming back to you.”
Flynn makes no sense. Babies bring people together, not distance them.
“Why would it stop her? If anything, it should have brought her back.”
“No,” he says with finality. “Milana’s biggest fear is inheriting Mom’s disease. If she doesn’t procreate, no one will suffer. So, in a way, I saw this breakdown coming. I lived in denial hoping she would fall in love with the baby and forget. You can do this… she needs you.”
The call ends, the tone lingering while I continue to sit motionless. It fucking hurts reliving every moment we were together, searching for signs, clues, or anything that would lead me to where I might be able to find her. And for such a long time, I numbed the pain which made it all the worse.
Finally, the feeling consumes me, stabbing me in every nerve and crippling my ability to think straight. I can’t escape it, screaming on the inside for some sort of relief.
And even through these thoughts, I’m reeling, still unsure of how this all happened.
At what point did this become us? A baby who belongs to the two of us. Something we created out of desperate times, unknowingly. What fucked-up plan did God have in store for us? Yeah, I still fucking pray, all right. I remember being a good little Catholic boy once upon a time.
Since the moment she left me, I haven’t allowed myself to think about her. My ego, bruised and cut up, has nothing against that constant ache that lingers from her absence. I have spent the time away from home, on remote locations and will do anything I can to not remember her.
