Page 65 of Closing the Distance

She pushes herself to standing and I rise to help her, but she holds her hand up. “I’ve got it. You’re right. I should rest.”

But she doesn’t head up the stairs for our room. She makes her way to the kitchen. Halfway there, I stop her with a hand on her arm, gripping her gently. She still won’t look at me. “Lexi? If you’re hungry, I’ll make you some food. You can go upstairs and I’ll bring it to you, okay?”

She nods and turns around, once again not saying anything. I watch her walk to the stairs until she disappears. When I get in the kitchen, I stop and place my hands on top of my head. That sick tightening in my gut has only gotten stronger since we got home.

I’m messing up.

I’m not sure how exactly, but the feeling that I just made things worse coats me like I’m covered in heavy molasses.

It might be time to call in reinforcements.

THIRTY-SEVEN

My back hits the bedroom door as I close it and finally let the tears fall freely. A sob works its way up my throat, but I cover my mouth to hold it in. My heart—or what’s left of it—hurts beyond reason. It’s a pain I’ve felt once before, but as time dulled the memory, I forgot how truly painful it was. How I felt like my body was being ripped apart from the inside out by some invisible force that wanted to inflict maximum pain.

He’s here for the baby.

That’s good. That should be enough. She’ll always have him; I know that beyond a shadow of a doubt. But a small part of me hoped when he arrived at my school that maybe he was there for me.

I’ve never felt more like a vessel for the truly precious cargo I carry as I did when he put his hand on my belly and lit up at our daughter’s kick and then had the nerve to remind me to take care of myself for her.

I would neverrisk our daughter. It’s why I made sure to force down a banana and my prenatal vitamins this morning even though I had zero appetite. It’s why I tried meditation videos last night to bring down my stress because I know it’s not good for Peanut.

I know how to put my daughter first. He doesn’t need to remind me she’s important. She’s my whole fucking world now.

She’s the only solid thing I have left.

A small part of my brain, which has been questioning everything on a loop, wonders if I’m too emotional to look at this situation objectively. Maybe he was just showing general concern.

But he wasn’t. He was making sure I understood if I wasn’t taking care of myself, I could be hurting our daughter.

Another sharp pang tugs at my heart, and a small sob rips free. I rush to the bathroom and lock the door. My face stares back at me in the mirror, my cheeks blotchy from my tears, my eyes red and dull, my mouth dry, and my nose a runny mess.

But none of that hits me quite as much as the despair in my gaze. Those dull eyes are lifeless; they’re broken. All my pain, all my fears, all my doubts—a lifetime’s worth—are reflected back at me.

Unlovable.

No one wants you.

No one will ever want you.

Ty was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be the one who would love me. He made me believe those whispers in my head were lies. That I was lovable. That I was wanted. By him.

But it’s not me he wants, is it? Was it ever? Or has it always been about our daughter? By keeping me close, he wouldn’t have to fight for access to her.

He grew up in a two-parent home, so naturally he would want that for his child.

I close my eyes, unable to look at myself for a single second longer. I was so stupid.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, I let myself feel it all, knowing when I exit this bathroom, I need to have my armor fully in place. I won’t leave again. Ty’s right; it’s not safe for me outside this house. But more than that, I will give our daughter what I never had.

A family.

I can accept that Ty doesn’t love me, that none of his actions have been about me. I can remind myself that I have survived all my worst hurts, and Ty will make an incredible father. Now that I know the truth, I can protect myself. I can accept—something I should’ve done years ago—that this is my life.That I may be unlovable, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give all my love to my child. She’ll never feel the way I feel right now. She’ll never know this kind of agony.

Turning the water on, I splash my face, pulling myself back together. It’s harder to put my metaphorical armor back in place than I remember. My heart aches at all the ways Ty chipped away at my walls over the last several months—all the ways he made me feel safe when I should’ve listened to my gut that none of it was real.

I firm up my resolve, and like a lock clicking shut, the final piece of armor slips into place and a numbness coats my bones. The only warmth in my body comes from my stomach, where my daughter grows.

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