Nothing about this situation is okay. It’s messy; it’s filled with years of lies and deceit. But all I know to do is comfort her the best way I know how.
When it feels like her cries have slowed, I walk us into my place and close the door. “Come on. Let’s go sit down.”
With her hand in mine, I lead her over to the couch. We both take a seat, and I pull her into my arms. She rests her head against me once again.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask gently.
Her hand comes up to my chest. My first instinct is to place mine over it, to keep her there. I don’t know if it’s to comfort her or myself.
She doesn’t answer my question, and I don’t push. The silence stretches, but it’s not the kind that feels heavy; it’s the kind that feels like breathing after being underwater too long.
After a while, I brush a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering against her skin longer than they should.
“You should get some sleep,” I murmur.
Her eyes lift to mine, red-rimmed and tired. “Can I stay here?”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
I grab her a blanket and a pillow, but when she settles on the couch, I hesitate before turning away.
“Jessie,” I start, but I have no idea what comes next. What apology could fix what she’s been through? What promise could she even believe right now? So, I just say the truth. “I’m glad you came.”
She doesn’t look up, but I catch the faintest nod before her eyes flutter closed.
And I stand here, watching her breathe. I know I should walk away, but instead, I sit on the floor beside her, close enough that if she reaches out in her sleep, I’ll be there. Even if I don’t know what that means anymore.
“Morning,” a soft, familiar voice says in the distance.
I turn over and realize my back is killing me. Why am I so cold? Why the hell is this bed so damn hard?
I open my eyes, and it takes a couple of blinks for me to figure out that I’m on the floor. Then it dawns on me. Jessie. I slept next to her.
After tossing and turning for hours in pain, I must’ve fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning.
I look up and see Jessie with a cup of coffee in one hand and Eli in the other. All the pain in the world means nothing when I see the two people I love the most with each other.
“Morning,” I reply in my rough and sleepy voice.
She laughs lightly. “Why do I feel like it wasn’t such a great night of sleep for you?”
I groan, then wipe my face with my hands. “I’m getting old. This shouldn’t hurt so much.”
I turn to the side and slowly lift myself off the ground, then scoot to the couch as I try to work out the kinks in my back and shoulders.
“You didn’t have to sleep on the ground.”
Eli starts babbling in her arms, which makes both of us look at her.
“I missed her,” Jessie says as she peers down at my daughter.
When her eyes meet mine, I respond, “We both missed you.”
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m ready to talk. Whenever you are.”
“Whatever you need, Jessie, I’m here. Let me just go to the bathroom.”
I move quickly across the room, afraid that if I stop, she might change her mind. Still, part of me slows at the last second, wanting to memorize this—the sound of her voice, the softness in her eyes, the fragile thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t the end of us.
