Page 18 of Open Arms

She halted, barely, a statue poised mid-stride. I couldn’t see her face, but I imagined it, those blue eyes clouded with doubt. Could she feel the raw urgency in my touch? The unspoken promise that I’m not the jerk I just sounded like?

“Chlo . . .” Her name was a prayer on my lips, and everything rode on that moment.

But then she was gone, like a wisp of smoke caught in a stiff breeze. The door swung shut behind Chloe with a click that echoed in the sudden silence of the school hallway. I was left standing there, my hand still hanging in the air, reaching for something that was gone.

I turned to see Abby bounding towards me, her brown curls bouncing with each step. She was all smiles and sunshine, unaware of the storm that just blew through. A little pang shot through me—she shouldn’t have to witness her old man messing up like this.

“Hey, Ab,” I said, forcing a grin as I scooped her up into my arms. Her tiny hands locked around my neck, pure trust and love in her grip.

“What’s wrong with Ms. Chloe?” Abby asked, her gray eyes wide with that innocent curiosity only a kid could manage.

“Uh,” I reply, setting her down and taking her hand. “She had to run off somewhere.”

“Will she come play horsies with us again?” Abby’s other hand tugged at the cuff of my sleeve, her hopeful expression doing all sorts of flips in my chest.

“Sure hope so, Abs,” I murmured, though I wasn’t so sure.

We walked to the car, the gravel crunching beneath our steps, a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling inside me. I helped Abby into her booster seat, clicking the belt into place with practiced ease. She hummed some tune from a cartoon that was always playing on our TV, oblivious to the chaos of adult emotions.

“Strap’s too tight, Daddy!” Abby protested, and I loosened it a notch, careful not to let my agitation show. Ain’t her fault her dad’s got the emotional finesse of a wild stallion.

“Better?” I asked, and she nodded, content once more.

“Thanks!” Her smile was like a patch of blue sky on a cloudy day.

“Anytime, kiddo.”

I slid into the driver’s seat, my mind a mess of thoughts about Chloe. How do I fix this? What can I say to make it right? ‘Sorry’ didn’t feel good enough. It seemed like a word meant for bumping into someone or not holding the door long enough. Not the kind of fuck up that clearly triggered some bone-deep emotions.

“Chloe’s nice,” Abby chattered from the back, pulling me from my reverie. “She gives the best piggyback rides.”

“Yeah, she is nice.” My voice came out soft, almost wistful. I turned the key in the ignition, the engine rumbling to life, grounding me back to the present.

As we pulled away from the school, I glanced in the rearview mirror, catching sight of Abby’s happy face. She deserved a world full of piggyback rides and laughter. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted Chloe to be part of that world too.

“Can we get ice cream?” Abby piped up, a new sparkle in her eyes as she spotted the familiar parlor up ahead.

“Reckon that’s the best idea you’ve had all day,” I said, a genuine warmth in my voice now. Ice cream ain’t gonna fix what I broke with Chloe, but it’s a start—a sweet distraction while I figure out how to mend things.

“Yay!” Abby clapped her hands, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Chocolate okay?”

“Double chocolate!”

“Double chocolate it is.”

As I park the truck, I made a promise to myself, to Abby, and to Chloe, even if she wasn’t there to hear it—I was gonna set things right. No matter what it took.

9

Chloe

I satcross-legged on the bed, my journal open on my lap. The setting sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a soft glow across the creamy pages.

Deep breath in through the nose . . . hold for three seconds . . . exhale slowly through pursed lips. The familiar pattern of the breathing exercise helped settle my racing thoughts. I repeated the cycle a few more times, feeling the tension gradually release from my shoulders.

Glancing down at the journal, I read the affirmation I’d scrawled across the top of the page: “I am safe. I am worthy of love and happiness.” The words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else’s life. Someone whole and undamaged.

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