She sat down next to me, patting my leg. “No, dear. He has no idea I’m here.”
I sighed as my shoulders sagged. “What can I do for you, Mrs. DeLuca?”
She turned toward me, smoothing her jeans out. “I want to talk to you about my son,” she said, smiling at me. “I hope I’m not being nosy.”
“You are,” I said, laughing. “He told me about you.”
“He’s a little shit.”
“He can be that, but he loves you though,” I told her.
She took a deep breath. “He loves you too, Race.”
I swallowed hard, trying to breathe. “He loves me?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “He’s been a mess since the day he found you.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered and chewed my lip.
“He won’t even come to Sunday dinner anymore. He’s been grouchy, not sleeping well, barely eating, and just surviving without you.”
“Oh,” I mumbled. “I feel horrible.”
She touched my leg, resting her hand on my knee. “So does he. He’s hurting without you, Race.”
“I miss him,” I said. “I just can’t let him see me like this.” I motioned toward my chest.
“Baby girl,” she whispered, tilting her head. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. If a man truly loves you, things like that will never matter.”
“I’m scarred,” I whispered, not trusting my voice.
“Did you ever think about having a baby?” she asked, staring at me with her lips set in a firm line.
“Someday.”
“When you get pregnant and your belly grows big, your entire midsection will stretch. Even after you deliver the baby, the stretch marks will be there forever. Are those scars ugly?”
“Well, no, but those are from something beautiful. They’re like a badge of honor earned from giving birth to another little being.”
She squeezed my knee. “They’re no different than these scars on your skin, my dear. You lived through something and should be proud of yourself for being a survivor.”
I shook my head, glancing down at my chest. “It’s not the same.”
She touched my chin, bringing my eyes to hers. “It is the same. You should be proud that you’re a survivor. It’s only skin. What matters is what’s inside your heart, Race. Do you love him?” she asked, watching me closely.
I swallowed, understanding what she meant. “Yes,” I said, giving her a weak smile. “So much it makes my heart hurt.”
“You need to go to him.”
“I can’t,” I whispered, shaking my head. “Not yet.”
“If you wait too long, you may lose him forever.”
Tears stung my eyes and slid down my cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” she whispered, wrapping her arm around my shoulder and pulling my face to her chest. “He blames himself for what happened to you.”
I sucked in a breath, feeling like someone had kicked me in the gut. “Why?”
