Page 82 of Forget Me Not

“Oh . . . honey . . .” Mom’s voice breaks and I know she’s crying. I just . . . I can’t look at her or I’ll cry, too. My emotions aren’t something I can handle right now. Not when they’ve been so caged for four years that they’re wild. Angry.

I want to hit something for the first time in my life.

“Nova.”

I force my gaze to hers and it’s a mistake because I can see the tears shining in her eyes and before I know it, my own are burning.

“You don’t need to punish yourself, sweetheart.”

Is that what I’m doing? Punishing myself because Jack saved me and I couldn’t save him? Is it because I filed for divorce the day he died? Is it my own guilt—survivors guilt crashing down on me?

If I had to guess, all three.

“I’m not.”

“Nova, come sit down.”

“No, I’m fine,” I mutter angrily, hastily wiping the traitorous tear slipping down my cheek.

“Nova Leigh Fischer,” Mom’s voice cracks like a whip. I freeze. Mom never scolds me. “Sit.”

Swallowing my pride, I suck up my tears and perch on the edge of the bed beside Mom, though I would rather do anything but have this conversation right now.

“Talk to me.” Mom takes my hand, her gentle demeanor slipping back into place.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Mom.”

“There is. You miss Jack.”

“He was . . .” I start, unable to finish the sentence. “Of course, I miss him.”

“He would want you to move on and be happy.”

I shake my head, silently begging her to stop before I end up a crying, sobbing mess on the floor, but she doesn’t. Instead, she reaches up and brushes a curl out of my face and then, consequently, a tear off my cheek.

“You were together for so long. I know it’s hard, but . . . he’d want you to keep living life, for him.”

My voice breaks when I speak because it feels like a hole has been opened up in my chest. “It’s been so long since anyone else has talked about him.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Mom coos, squeezing my hand tighter. “No one forgot about him. Part of surviving is remembering him and celebrating him. Refusing to love again is only ruining what you have left of him.”

“How?”

She smiles softly, taking my other hand and pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

“Jack loved you. He did. But that doesn’t mean someone else can’t love you just as much.” She presses a palm to the spot on my chest over my heart. “That doesn’t mean you can’t love someone that much again.”

I shake my head, tugging my hand from her. She doesn’t know what I did to him. She doesn’t know what I forced on him.

Reid would be easy to love. Under that rough exterior, he’s shown me things I’ve never seen. He’s like fireworks on the Fourth of July or hot chocolate on a cold winter night. Comfort. Warmth.

But he’s not the man I said I would love for the rest of my life. He’s not Jack.

“Am I a bad person?”

She chuckles softly, though it doesn’t hold any humor.

“No. You aren’t a bad person. You’re a human who lost someone and now you’re holding yourself hostage with their memory.”

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