I kept moving, kept checking things off the list. Because if I stopped, if I let myself breathe, the silence wrapped tighter around me. And at night, I’d catch myself remembering. Hunter leaning over my textbooks, making some dumb joke just to make me laugh. Him pushing the twins in their swings, Zeke squealing from his shoulders at the park. His truck pulled into the lot, the way my chest always lifted when I heard it.
But, there’s only so much waiting a person can do.
After another long day of work and class, the kids running circles around me, I sat down at the table, phone in hand. The last message I’d sent him was two days old, still unanswered. Just a simple picture of the twins, hair wild, mouths sticky with peanut butter. Nothing complicated. Nothing demanding. And still, nothing back.
I stared at the blank screen until my chest hurt. Then I did something I hadn’t let myself do in weeks. I put the phone down, flipped it face down on the table, and decided I was done waiting. Done refreshing, done hoping, done holding my breath for a man who clearly wasn’t holding his for me.
It wasn’t anger. It was a kind of exhaustion that settled deep, the kind that made my bones heavy. I’d begged people to stay before, and I couldn’t do it again. I needed to choose what was right for the kids and me, to build a life that didn’t hinge on someone else deciding if we were enough. So I folded laundry, packed lunches, and finished my reading for class. I tucked the kids in with extra kisses and let myself breathe without reaching for the phone.
I wanted the kids to see it was okay to ask for what we needed, to build resilience, but also to recognize the gentle strength of setting boundaries.
Chapter Fifty Four
Hunter
It took me longer than I’d like to admit to pull myself together. To hear Mike’s words, to feel Sarah’s hand press that card into mine, and to finally realize I couldn’t keep hiding behind silence.
Typed out, ‘I’m sorry. I want to talk.’
Deleted it. Tried again: ‘I miss you. Let me see you.’
Still sounded weak. Deleted that too.
Instead I kept it simple.
No frills. Just straight.
Me:Can I come by?
Then I waited. And that was the worst part. The minutes stretched, my chest tight. Every time my phone buzzed, I snatched it up, only to see another notification, an email, a weather alert, anything but her.
But Camille didn’t reply. Not that hour. Not that night.
I was the one staring at the silence, realizing what it felt like to be on the other side. And, it gutted me. And that’s why the next day, I found myself near her apartment. I don’t even remember turning down her street. I told myself I was just driving, trying to clear my head, but my hands had other plans, and before I knew it, I was creeping past her building, my heart pounding.
She was standing by the window, hair messy from a long day, holding one of the twins on her hip while Zeke zoomed around behind her with a toy plane. She wasn’t looking for me; she didn’t even know I was there, but the sight of her, of them, hit me harder than anything had in years.
They were all that I wanted. Everything I told myself I couldn’t have. Right then, I knew I could keep running and keep screwing things up, or I could fight. For her. For them. For me.
My hands shook as I pulled the therapist’s card from my pocket. The name and number stared back at me, heavier than a rifle in my hands. The voice on the other end was calm, professional. I almost hung up.
My throat locked, my chest screamed don’t do it, but I forced the words out. “My name’s Hunter. I, uh… I was given your number. I’m a veteran. I…” I swallowed hard. “I want to make an appointment.”
To my shock, she said she had an opening that afternoon. No waiting list, which meant no excuses. For a second, I froze. I didn’t trust it or myself. Didn’t trust the idea that sitting in another office could do more than waste time. But then I glanced back at the window, at the life I wanted and was about to lose, and I turned the truck toward the clinic.
My palms were slick on the wheel, my chest tight withnerves, but I wasn’t running. I was driving straight into the fire. Because maybe, just maybe, it was the only way through.
The clinic was small, tucked between a laundromat and a pharmacy. Nothing fancy. The kind of place you could drive past a hundred times and never notice. I sat in the parking lot for a full ten minutes before I made myself get out. My chest felt tight, my legs heavy. Walking into combat felt easier than opening that glass door.
Inside, the air was too clean, too quiet. The receptionist smiled and asked me to sign in. My hand shook as I scribbled my name. By the time I sat in the therapist’s office, I was already coiled tight, arms crossed, jaw locked. ??She was calm, older than the woman at the VA, softer voice, eyes that didn’t dart to a clipboard every five seconds. Still, I didn’t trust her.
“So, Hunter,” she said, not pushing. “Tell me what brought you here today.”
I shrugged, staring at the carpet. “I don’t know. My buddy’s wife gave me your card. Figured I’d… check a box.”
Her lips curved, not unkind. “Okay. Then let’s start with the box. What would you want it to say when you leave here?”
I didn’t answer. My throat was too tight, but she didn’t press; she just waited. And maybe that’s why, after a long stretch of silence, I muttered, “I can’t keep living like this.”
