Every night feels longer than the last. I leave the TV on for noise, but it only reminds me how alone I am. That I’m the only one who can turn it off.
I spend my days at the gym, wrapping up what’s left of my career. The new owners take over next month. Ben’s helped me negotiate enough to pay him back, but it’s a close thing. I should feel relief. I don’t. All that’s left is regret.
Rain lashes against the windows on a November afternoon, and the dogs are curled tight against my legs on the window seat. People rush around outside in a sea of multicolored umbrellas. When my phone rings, I jump.
“Hello,” the familiar voice says, and something inside shatters. It’s been months of silence. “Amz? Are you there?”
He sounds the same as he always does, and my heart beats a little faster. “Amz,” he says again, “it’s me.”
“Terry,” I whisper. Hell, I miss him. Life is hard on your own. “Hi. It’s good to hear from you.”
“Hi, I wanted to call you myself,” he says, softly. “I have some news. I didn’t want you finding out from anyone else.”
I already know what’s coming before the words leave his mouth. I’ve been waiting for this announcement.
“I have a son, Amz. He was born yesterday.” Each word, spoken slowly, lands with the force of a physical blow. My world tilts. It’s happened.
“Congratulations,” I manage. My heart, which is barely held together, disintegrates. “Is he all right? And his mum?”
“He’s perfect,” he says, silent pride lacing his tone. “And Abigail’s fine. Just tired.”
Abigail. Her name stings. He keeps talking, something about the gym. About Ben filling him in, but the words merge into a low whine. I stare out at the rain droplets on the glass, wanting to be anywhere but here.
“I’m so sorry it didn’t work out,” he says.
I don’t know if he means the gym or our marriage. Maybe, both. I don’t ask. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Me too.”
Both of us hang on the line, silent for a few minutes. The sound of a baby’s cry cuts through the speaker. It splits me wide open. A sound that will never grace my home.
He mutters something about having to go, then, “Look after yourself, Amz.”
And the line goes dead.
For a long moment, I sit there, phone still at my ear with the rain and baby’s cry echoing in my head.
He got it.
He got his dream.
A family.
And here I am, still here, still stuck, living with ghosts.
Chapter twenty-three
Terry
Guilt is a difficult emotion to deal with. It bubbles under your skin, spreading like a virus, eating away at you as you attempt to get on with your everyday life. Ignore it, and it festers. The poison spreading by the day. Touch it, and it grows until it’s all you can feel.
Since the destruction of my marriage to Amy—on my own terms—it’s something I’ve struggled with. Breaking her heart and walking away is the most challenging thing I’ve ever had to do.
Now that my son is here, shame is annihilating me from the inside out. I feel guilty for leaving her. I feel guilty for my life moving forward. And I feel guilty for having now what we both longed for.
“How did she react?” Abigail asks as she watches me hang up the phone. Our baby boy is in her arms, sucking greedily from his bottle. A quiet, rhythmic sound that fills the room, groundsme in this life. My heart lifts slightly at the sight. A mother and son. This is what I’ve always wanted.
“As well as could be expected,” I reply, and she gives me an encouraging smile. She’s a good woman. She may not be the love of my life, but she’s a devoted individual who cares deeply about those around her.
“But I know at this moment, she’ll be in tears. When you’re with someone for as long as I was with Amy, you know them. I know how she ticks. I know when she’s trying to manage her emotions. And I know when she is losing control of them.” I exhale slowly. “Unfortunately, that conversation ended with the latter.”
