Page 37 of Healing Bonds

THREE MONTHS LATER

The silence was deafening.

No matter how often I reassured Amber that she wasn’t a failure, that losing our baby wasn’t her fault, my words never seemed to be enough. I couldn’t break through to her, and slowly but surely, our life had become a train wreck. Our marriage had become a disaster. We were practically two strangers living under the same roof, tied together by a legally binding piece of paper.

She had lost so much weight; her clothes were just hanging off of her thin frame when she moved from the bed to the bathroom and then to the couch. She didn’t eat or drink unless I fed her myself. She just stared blankly at the wall for hours, allowing herself to waste away. And I didn’t know how to help her anymore.

Three months ago, I thought I had broken through when I saw hope shine in her green eyes again. I thought that maybe, just maybe, she was back—the strong, determined, foul-mouthed red-head I had fallen in love with—but I was wrong.

I took time off work, but a day here and there eventually turned into week, and then, that became a month. I just couldn’t leave her alone. I was scared she would wither away to nothing if I wasn’t here with her. I hadn’t told our families how bad her depression had gotten, finding excuses every time they wanted to meet for why we couldn’t be there, and so far, no one had questioned us. I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad about it.

I watched her over the rim of my coffee cup. She was absolutely motionless, her dull eyes cast outside, always observing. Always just watching.

“Do you want to go out today?” I asked her that same question every damn day. Every damn day, I hoped she would say finally say yes.

But today, her answer was the same as always. “No.” Her soft voice calmed my aching heart, despite the lack of emotion in it. She sounded… dead.

“Come on. Just a walk down the street,” I urged her. Ineededher to get out of the house and do something. “Stretch those beautiful, long legs that I love.” I moved from the kitchen counter to stand in front of her. She glanced at me, her green eyes dark and soulless. My baby girl was slowly but surely losing herself in her misery.

“I don’t want to,” she whispered so quietly, I barely heard her. My heart clenched in my chest.

“Baby, just five minutes,” I pleaded. “It’s such a beautiful day out.” She turned to look at me fully, her red locks of hair bouncing with the movement.

“Leave me alone, Ryan, and go back to work. I don’t need you to watch over me like a child,” she snapped, her eyes slitting, her lips pulling back into a sneer. I stared at her thin face, her skin stretched tightly over her hollow cheekbones. I barely recognized her anymore, and it broke a piece of my soul.

“Not until you start taking care of yourself. Not until you start eating three meals a day. Then, I’llthinkabout it.” I didn’t want to sound like her father, so I sat beside her, taking her hands into mine. “I love you, Amber. I don’t want to lose you.”

“There’s no saving me, Ryan.” Her words cut me like a fucking knife. I wasn’t giving up on her. I wouldn’t—couldn’t—let her continue to destroy herself.

“Don’t say that.” My voice was rough and thick with sadness. Hurt. The thought of losing her damn near caved my chest in.

“Just stop it, Ryan!” She yanked her hands from mine. My stomach dropped. “Stop trying to bring back the spitfire that you love. Shediedwhen our childdied,”she snapped at me, but I refused to believe it. I knew she was still in there somewhere because if she were truly gone, Amber wouldn’t have the fire in her soul that she did right then as she yelled at me.

“No, Amber,youstop. I love you, and I will fight for you—for us—until my last, dying breath.” I grabbed her cold hands again and squeezed them before bringing them to my lips, kissing her knuckles, wishing I could breathe warmth into her chilled body.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” she mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her body away from mine.

Breathing was becoming difficult. “Do what, Ames?” I pulled her back to me, fearing the worst. She couldn’t mean what I thought she meant, can she?

“Us, Ryan. I can’t dousanymore.” She swallowed thickly. “I want a divorce.”

I fell back against the chair I’d been sitting on, not believing my ears. I didn’t understand where this was coming from, didn’t understand what changed in the last few months for her to want this. I couldn’t look at her as I tried to wrap my mind around her request. Letting go of her icy hands, I stood. She reached for me, but I didn’t even know why she bothered. This was what shewanted, right? A divorce—to be separated? To watch me walk out of her life?

To no longer be able to touch me?

I swallowed thickly. For me to no longer be able to touch her?

Why was she reaching for me, then?

“Ryan, please, wait,” she begged, but her voice fell on deaf ears as I walked out the house and into the garage, slamming the door on my way out. This wasn’t happening. I fought way too hard for her—for us—to just give up. We had survived six years of being apart while I was in the military, and through all of the dark, troubling times, she had stuck with me. We had stuck together.

She wasn’t the only one grieving, and she wasn’t getting out of this marriage so easily. I loved her more than life itself, and I wouldn’t just let her go, no matter how much she begged and pleaded and yelled.

I just had to figure out how the fuck to make her stay.

I stayed in the garage until nightfall, just listening to her move around the house, the soft clinking of dishes at dinner time, and then the shower an hour later. I slipped into the house when I was sure she had gone to bed, my fingers clutching onto the letter I’d clung to in my moments of desperation, in the moments where missing her was almost too much to bear.

It was a letter I had read more than a hundred times while I was stationed overseas. It was the letter that she had sent me right before I came home.

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