Page 35 of Healing Bonds

I’m so sorry, Angel.

Chapter Fifteen

AMBER

ONE YEAR LATER

Rain pelted onto the roof of our new, tiny home, lashing against the windows, then slowly rolling to the ground. Thunder rumbled in the distance as I looked at the almost-black sky in the middle of a summer afternoon.

Florida was known for its strange weather patterns, but this summer, we had only experienced darkness and rain. It reflected my mood perfectly. Most days, I could barely make it out of the bed, preferring to stay in the dark with my face pressed into the pillow as I cried. My every thought was filled with the face of my daughter, the daughter I hadn’t known about and failed to protect.

An entire year later and I still couldn’t find forgiveness within myself. It was my fault she had died. If I had known, had noticed my irregular menstrual cycle, had gone to a doctor like I was supposed to, then we would have been more careful. Ryan would have driven more carefully. Maybe I wouldn’t have even gone out that day.

Ryan liked to remind me that no matter how careful we were, the accident wasn’t our fault. A drunk driver hit us. A drunk driver took awaymybaby,mylittle girl. She was gone from the world in the blink of an eye, and I didn’t even know about her.

I hadn’t noticed the extra weight, my missing menstrual cycle, no morning sickness. I had been drinking and going about life like normal.

We had moved from the apartment a few months ago to something bigger with our own garage and a pool. Ryan spent most of his time in the pool, swimming laps in the early mornings and late evenings before and after work, and then, he spent his weekends working on an old bike his dad found at an auction.

We hardly spoke. Like two passing ships in the night, we had fallen into a terrible cycle of silence.

At first, he tried. He pulled me out of bed every morning to have a cup of coffee with him before work, but eventually, after a few weeks of forced conversations, he let me stay in bed. When he came home from work, he would bring me my favorite foods, but I wasn’t hungry. I ate just enough to stay alive and to appease him.

On the weekends, he would force me out of the house, even though most of the time, he had to physically pull me out of the bed screaming and crying and put me into the shower and dress me. Grief and depression had consumed me by that point. I’d begun losing my will to live.

Now, six months later, he had stopped doing all of that and decided instead to just leave me be, to let me deal with my grief in my own way. He now spent all of his time outside of the house, working and building up his name in the business. He had already been promoted, and he often came home late, would quietly make himself food in the kitchen, shower, and then slide into bed next to me.

Every night, it was the same routine. He would pull me to him, his warmth wrapping around me just like my childhood blanket, and he brought me comfort in those quiet moments in the dark. My ear would be pressed to his chest so I could listen to his steady heartbeat. He would kiss my forehead, rub gentle, soft circles on my thigh, and whisper into my ear his love for me.

Most nights, I just cried, letting him absorb my pain, and fell asleep feeling safe. In those moments, my mind would be free ofmychild as he breathed life back into me, but it wasn’t enough because this darkness consumed me whenever he wasn’t around and sent me spiraling right back to square one.

The rain was endless today. Our pool was on the verge of flooding. Ryan hadn’t called during lunch like he always did, and worry tore at me, the little voice in my head whispering all my darkest fears over and over.

Maybe he was talking to the pretty receptionist, who always flirted with him and Ace. Maybe it was a customer. Would my depression over the loss of our child end our relationship? Did he blame me for losing our baby? Did he hate me as much as I hated myself?

A giant rumble of thunder shook the glass panes, startling me from my dark thoughts. I looked out into the dreary world and then back to the clock under the television. The red numbers glared back at me, haunting my mind. It was three in the afternoon and still not a word from my husband.

A giant, electric clap sounded outside, followed by a roaring rumble. The house fell into complete darkness. The red letters no longer showed the time on the tiny screen, and the soft sound of the television playing completely stopped as all of the electricity flickered off.

I waited, holding my breath. One minute passed, and then two, and still, no power. Five minutes later, I got up from my warm spot on the couch and went to check if the neighbors hadpower. Opening my front door, I was almost thrown back from the force of the wind. It blew my tangled hair into my face as I checked the houses on my street, only to see the same darkness staring back at me that was inside my own house.

I pushed against the door to close it, fighting against the strong wind before finally shutting it. A chill raced up my spine as I settled back onto the couch, watching the wind blow through my garden, tearing through my pretty flowers that Ryan had planted with me when we moved to try to brighten my spirits.

My phone buzzed beside me then, and I jumped, surprised by the loud ding. I reached for it quickly, hoping to see something from Ryan, but instead, it was a text from Celine.

Cece:How’s the weather there, Ames?

I could almost hear her saying my name. She had come over a few times since we moved—at first to help me unpack all the boxes, and then, she would sit with me for hours in silence. Sometimes, she would look at me, her gaze longing, words on the tip of her tongue, but she would stay quiet, instead settling a hand on her growing belly.

Then, she would come and read at my place. She would just sit on my couch in this very spot and read, even if I didn’t get out of bed. My best friend, who had been expecting her own child, would bring me lunch in bed and curl up next to me, never saying a word as she noisily munched on whatever she had made.

After she had the baby, she stopped coming around. Ryan didn’t want her coming over and upsetting me. We were there at the hospital the day their baby was born. Ryan didn’t ask me to go when we got the call that she was in labor, leaving the decision entirely up to me. I often wondered if he was nervous to ask or if he didn’t think I could handle seeing her healthy baby.

I just wanted to be there for my friend, for my sister-in-law—for my innocent, little goddaughter, Summer. Celine andAce made Ryan and me her godparents. They were hesitant at first, barely meeting our gazes in the hospital as they held their perfectly healthy baby girl.

And then, Ace walked over with the tiny pink bundle cradled in his arms. I remembered sinking back into the chair and shaking my head, the thought of holding her unbearable. He stood before Ryan, whose grip on my hand was crushing.

I caught a glimpse of her sweet, sleeping face, and my heart melted into a puddle in my chest. The tears that flowed immediately after didn’t stop until we got home that night.

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