“She’s perfect.” Tears blurred my vision when I looked at Cohen. He kissed us both on the forehead. “You both are.”
When I looked at Willow,it didn't matter that I’d lost months of my life. The fact that she was okay, even after the accident, that is what counted. As happy as I was with Willow, there was a niggling feeling at the back of my mind that something was wrong, even off between Cohen and me. I knew I loved him, that he loved me, but something had shifted, and I wasn't sure what it was.
"It's like he's a stranger in some ways." I say to Dr. Lane." I sat in her office, a cottage surrounded by wildflowers and trees, nothing like the doctor's offices I was used to. I didn't tell Cohen about my appointments, and I continued to go to the psychiatrist that my obstetrician recommended appeasing Co. Pretty white lies, they envelop me these days.
“Have you thought about talking to him, letting him know how you feel?”
I push my shoulders back to ease some of the tension there. “I have spoken to him. He just tells me I need to rest, relax, take those meds Doctor Shah prescribed.”
"You don't seem keen on Doctor Shah," she smirks.
I look over my shoulder. “You think?”
“Tell me more about these dreams you’ve been having.”
I retake my seat in the comfortable armchair across from her. "It's odd really. I'm sitting in a room, and Willow is in my arms, and then she starts levitating and the more reach for her the higher she goes until I can't reach her. Until I can merely watch her drift far above me, away from me."
“It sounds to me like you’re afraid, Sin. Afraid of losing her. That is pretty common after a traumatic event, especially one that took some of your memory with it.”
That part is the hardest to accept. Doctors assured me it was short term post-traumatic amnesia, which, according to them, is normal after an accident, but it's been two months, and I don't recall my entire pregnancy. Cohen has taken me to places we've been, shown me pictures from that time, and none of it triggers anything.
When I leave Lane's office, I make my way to Cohen's offices, but for some reason, being there makes me feel claustrophobic. The building is too rigid and overpowering. I don't make it to the revolving doors, but turn around and grab a coffee at the local Starbucks instead. My hands are sweating when I reach the store. I order a cappuccino to go and sit on a bench in the park, drinking it, trying to feel normal again. After a few hours, I feel well enough to take the bus home. The train is a bit too crowded for me today.
"Mom, I'm home." I shout.
"Honey, are you okay? I was worried, sick," my mom fusses.
I hang my coat up and reach out to Willow. "I am great now." I smile at my beautiful daughter. "I just needed some air, so I took a walk."
“I should get going. Dad will be home soon.” My mom visits when I need help, but she doesn’t stay long, not long enough to see Cohen. My father hasn’t seen me since I left the hospital. They believe Cohen is hiding something because he didn’t let them know about the accident until I woke up. I understand it from both sides. He was stressed and not thinking straight, and they are my parents and wanted to be there for me.
“Thanks again, Mom.” I kiss her cheek and see her out.
“There’s a lamb stew on the stove’” she yells as she gets into her car. I hold Willow close to me.
“That is the kind of mama I want to be.” I kiss my daughter’s forehead and smile at the sweet scent of her.
Chapter 25
Sinclair
Now
I’m drunk. Cohen left a few hours ago. Him being here brought up all kinds of unwanted thoughts, like the fact that I don’t recall almost a year of my life. My parents are in bed. I pick up my phone, and despite knowing the consequences of drunk calling and texting, I find Creed’s number and hit dial.
"Hey," he answers sleepily.
"Can you come over?" I slur. He's quiet, and for a second, I think he isn't going to.
“Give me ten minutes.” I hear him shuffling.
I open the door and decide to sit out on the porch and wait for him. When he pulls up, I stand and wobble down to meet him, falling against his chest.
"You've been drinking," he says, amused.
“Just a little. I’m allowed.”
He leads me back to the porch, settling me on the swing. "Did you find out anything from her friend?" He crouches in front of me.
