Jack. The thoughts of him sting the most. Because if I’m honest with myself, I’ve let myself pretend that he’s filled the hole Aaron left. That I have a partner in this. That I’mnotalone as long as he’s around.
But he’s going to have his own wife and kid someday. He won’t be here forever. The thoughts that started a few weeks ago play on a loop in my mind—there's only so much a person can give. He'll hit a breaking point, and then he'll be gone too.
I slink miserably into bed, feeling lower than I have since those first few weeks after the funeral. I wish so desperately that myrose colored glasses weren’t shattered, but there’s no un-seeing the truth for what it is.
Maybe it won’t feel so big and bad tomorrow. Maybe you won’t be alone after all. Maybe this will feel like a silly nightmare you can brush off.
But as I drift off to sleep, I know deep down that it won’t. And I know what I have to do to protect Little One from being hurt–and to protect myself. I can’t risk that kind of loss again. Because I have to survive. For her. It’s not about me anymore. I need to make the right choice for us both.
Even if it tears me apart.
***
I was right to doubt that I’d feel better when I woke up this morning. If anything, I feel worse. I’m exhausted, and guilt-ridden, andangry.So unbelievably angry that I might burst into flames from the rage.
I’ve been so happy, so comfortable in my little bubble. And I’m furious with myself for giving in to it. It’s been so much easier to pretend that I’m not alone in this, that I’m not alone in this house, that everything is what it should be. But it’s not.
“Good morning, pretty girl,” Jack yawns, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. “You sleep okay?”
“No,” I say in a flat tone. When I turn to face him, his brow is furrowed in concern.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I know it's been harder to get comfortable lately. Anything I can do for you?"
"I'm not a problem that needs fixing," I say through gritted teeth. "And even if there was a problem, I can fix it myself."
"I'm not saying you can't, Abby," he says slowly. "What’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not with you,” I snap. He takes a step back, looking completely bewildered.
“Did I do something wrong?” he continues. “If I did, please tell me so I can apologize. We can talk through it.”
“That’s the problem Jack,” I say through gritted teeth. “There is nowe. There is me, and there is Little One, and that’s it. I get that I’ve let you hang around a lot, but that doesn’t make us a team. That doesn’t make us anus.Stop acting like it does. We aren’t a family.”
The color drains from his face, and the worst, most selfish part of me is glad my words found their mark. Glad that someone is feeling even a fraction of the pain that’s threatening to split me open right now.
“Don't say that," he croaks. "Don't say this is just 'hanging around.' You know it's more than that to me.Youare more than that to me. Both of you. Where is this coming from?”
“It’s not coming from anywhere, Jack, it justis,”I continue, even as guilt wells up nauseatingly in my stomach. “Little One is my family. Aaron was my family. But he’s gone, and as much as you might want to, you can’t replace him.”
“Abby, that’s never been what this is for me,” he says desperately. “I don’t want to replace him at all, I would never pretend that I could. I just want to be here for you, to help–”
“Well, you’re not helping. You’ve made everything worse. You swooped in to be some sort of hero instead of letting me handle this.” The venomous words feel like ash in my mouth, but I spit them out anyway. “And I let you do it. That’s on me. But that wasn’t your place. Itisn’tyour place.Thisisn’t your place. And I want you to leave.”
For an uncomfortable, tense moment, he just stares at me, eyes flashing and jaw clenched. All I can do is stare back.
“Please don’t do this, Abby.”
“It’s done. Leave.”
“No.”
“Leave.”
I can see it—the exact moment the fight leaves his eyes. The exact moment his heart breaks.
It makes me want to scream.
“Is that really what you want?” he asks in a small voice.
