Her mossy-green eyes grew wide as her hands turned over palm side up and her shoulders shrugged. She took in a shaky breath as more tears slid down her face. “Because I slept with you and left without saying goodbye, and then when I found out that I was pregnant I didn’t tell you—”
“You said you called the group home,” I interrupted her.
“I did. But I should have tried harder. I should have stood up to my dad. I should have done something. I was just…so scared.” Her bottom lip and hands trembled uncontrollably. The site commanded every protective instinct in my body to report for duty.
I’d deal with my own feelings later. I was good at that. I’d learned to compartmentalize long ago.
I stood and pulled her into my arms. “It’s okay.”
She cried against my chest, and I rubbed my hands up and down her back as I whispered over and over against the crown of her head, “I’m here. It’s okay. Just breathe.”
Her tiny body shook as she sobbed against me. My heart shattered into a million pieces at the pain that she’d been carrying around all these years. I had a feeling these tears were a long time coming. I knew that I was going to have to process the information that I’d just been given, but right now, right now I just needed to make sure that Peyton was okay. I needed to do what I hadn’t been able to do twenty years ago and take care of her.
I continued to rub up and down her back, repeating that it was okay, everything was going to be okay. After what could have been twenty minutes or an hour, I wasn’t sure, she stopped crying and lifted her head, looking up at me.
Her red-rimmed, puffy eyes shone with raw vulnerability as she sniffed. “Do you promise you don’t hate me?”
“Peyton…” I brushed my hand over her head, wiping some of the hair that had stuck to her cheeks which were damp with her tears. I wanted so badly to tell her that I loved her, that I always had and always would, but I wasn’t sure this was the time that she was ready to hear that. This wasn’t about me or my feelings for her. This was about her. “I couldneverhate you.”
Her face started to crumble in tears again. “I was so scared.”
I bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. My lips stayed in place as her entire body relaxed melting against me.
“I’m so sorry.” My lips brushed against her skin.
“You’resorry?” She pulled back and looked up at me. “You’re sorry for what?”
“For you going through that alone. I can’t imagine how terrifying and traumatizing that must have been. I would doanythingif I could go back and be there.”
Her bottom lip trembled once again. “Thank you.”
“When was she born?”
“What?”
“Our daughter, when was she born?”
A smile lifted on her face. “On November eleventh.”
“Eleven eleven?” I repeated in reverence.
“Eleven eleven.”
That date had been so special to us. What were the chances? What were the odds that that would be her birthday?
I was still trying to process that information when a realization hit me like a Mack truck. “The scar, on your belly, it’s not from your appendix, is it?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s from the emergency C-section.”
“Can I see it?” For some reason I had a primal need to see it, to touch the proof that Peyton had carried my baby.
She nodded as she unbuckled and unzipped her pants, then pulled the waistband down revealing the faded scar.
I lowered back down into the chair, and again the plastic protested under me.
Slowly I lifted my hand and ran my finger over the uneven skin. The scar that was on her body from when they took our baby out of her. Not able to help myself, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to it.
Peyton sucked in a shaky breath and her hands settled on my head.
