I’ll never date again. Never feel love again. Never feel safe or confident again.
“I’m spiraling,” I tell my daughter with a deep breath. I always used to be so calm.
Anger flares in me, towering over the dread and sadness. Arianna pulls herself up and down on my knee, scooting her padded bottom as best she can.
Time is going so fast. Yesterday, I was on the way to the hospital to have her.
Yesterday, Matt was always happy.
As long as you gave in and life went the way he wanted. Your wants matched. You wanted the simple life of taking care of a home, a family, and children. You were prepared to navigate the bumps. He had to have the road smooth at all times, and if not, he steamrolled over you or pounded you down until things were “perfect” again.
My inner voice is telling it like it is, and my anger grows. Now what kind of life will Arianna have?
Single mom working all the time to afford childcare.
Praying every second she’s out of my sight that Matt doesn’t find her.
But he’ll have to find us eventually. Custody battles. Praying that the judge won’t grant him shared custody, but it’s my word against his, so he’ll win at least some time. What if he says I’m unstable, that I ran away, abducted her? What if I lose Ari completely? Praying that he doesn’t hurt her to hurt me.
Would he do that? I suddenly don’t know.
“May I come in?”
I gasp and rise, bare knees knocking together, hurriedly smoothing down the shirt that’s acting as a daringly short dress. “Of course!” I mean, it’s his house.
It’s a lovely house. Neat and sterile.
He said he’d love to have kids messing it up.
I shake my head to clear the completely random and very inappropriate thought popping into my head. A thought that countermands my whole “I can’t trust men, and I’ll never love again” self-lecture.
“I didn’t know what you’d want, so I brought everything.” Jasper opens the door and brings in one television tray, then another, both piled high with food. He must have been setting them up outside the door. Carrying things up the stairs. Serving. Waiting on his guests.
“I would have come down.”
He nods, then looks sheepish. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I like taking care of people. I’m sorry you’re in this mess, but I can try to make it better, right?”
I nod and look at the steaming plates, enough food for five people. “I could never finish all of this.”
“You could try. You have to feed little Miss Bright Eyes. Can I hold her while you eat?” He offers. “The crib is in the hall, too. I can bring it in and set it up if you think she’s tired of being held. Ooh, I’ll move the coffee table out of the living room and vacuum the floor so she can crawl around down there. I can pick up outlet covers tomorrow. Wait, I can order them and have them delivered overnight.” He pulls out his phone with an excited expression.
I have to laugh. “We’re not going to be here that long. I wouldn’t want to put you to any more trouble. You’ve done so much.”
He shrugs. “It’s normal to help people and make them feel welcome. I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary.”
My heart lurches with a sudden, miserable realization. I’ve been taking care of Matt for so long, and for the baby, and maybe I didn’t have a job, but damn it, I worked, and got zero help with anything that Matt called “my territory.” Laundry, cleaning, cooking, baby care... “My ordinary doesn’t look likethis,” I whisper. “I’d like it to, but I was a ‘trad wife.’ Housewife? Stay-at-home-mom? My job was to take care of everything but making the money in a ‘real job.’”
Jasper tilts his head, and he reminds me of some big, curious dog who doesn’t understand the command they just heard. “But you’re the wife and mother. The homemaker. That’s ahugejob. No breaks, no vacations, and without you, nothing flows. No one is happy. So, even if you take care of everyone else, someone ought to be taking care ofyou.”
Matt tried to break me down with yelling and snide comments. It was slow and subtle, but thorough.
Jasper breaks me a thousand times faster, with simple kindness.Someone ought to be taking care of you.
My tears come back, and Jasper’s arms go around me, patting my back, stroking my hair, gradually drawing Arianna into one arm and me into the other. “It’s okay to cry. To mourn. It’s a death of something beautiful, of what should have been. When you grieve, someone else takes care of things. You eat. I’ll get to know Miss Arianna.”
“You’ll stay and eat, too?” I half-whimper. “Do you have tissues?” I must look a mess. I put on mascara and fussed over my makeup to go to the Halloween party. It’s probably been sobbed into streaks and blotches a dozen times since I fled the house. My home.
I picture the nursery that I spent months carefully, lovingly preparing, the bed I always made each morning, with all of its accent pillows, and I sob more.
