Page 70 of Stolen Kisses

In her darkest hours, she forgave me. I can’t comprehend the strength it took for her to do that.

The sound of little feet padding across my bedroom floorbreaksme from my thoughts. Quickly wiping away my tears laced in guilt and self-hate, I turn toward my door to find a sleepy Kenny rubbing her eyes.

“Uncle Theo, I’m hungry.”

Getting up, I pick Kenny up, kissing her good morning. “Let’s get you fed, then dressed for school. Okay?”

“Okay.” She leans forward laying a kiss on my cheek before snuggling into me, making my heart melt. I get what Anna was saying about Kenny being easy to love because it’s been incredibly easy to fall for the little girl in my arms.

While she eats breakfast, I pull up the video I saved so I can braid her long hair into the fancy French braid she asked me to learn. It doesn’t look exactly like the girl’s hair in the video, but it’s passable. I’m sure I’ll get better at it with practice. We work through the rest of our morning routine, which we’ve fine-tuned down to the minute.

Each day as I drop Kenny at school, I’m always hopeful I’ll catch sight of Emma, but I’m never that lucky. I haven’t seen her since the weekend before school started back. I don’t know how she manages to come and go without me seeing her—it’s like she’s a Ninja. I miss her terribly. I miss her boys, too. I loved having them around, helping me out in the workshop. They come over occasionally, but I think Kenny’s picked up on the change of relationship between Em and me, so she doesn’t invite them very often.

My days are routine. Drop Kenny at kindergarten, work from home filling orders for custom outdoor furniture, pick Kenny up from school, and spend my afternoon and evening caring for her. Once she’s in bed, some nights I head back out to the workshop to sand or stain furniture, other nights I do paperwork in my office.

Even though I’ve got Kenny with me, I’m lonely. There’s no chameleon eyes, gentle smiles, stolen kisses, and incidental touches bringing light to my days. There’s no little boy laughter, no family. I know I’ve got no one to blame but myself. I did this and I need to work out a way to fix it. I don’t know how to make it better and the more time that passes, the more certain I become that there’s no possibility for reconciliation. My frustration with myself is at an all-time high and I have to be careful to reign it in and not take it out on Kenny.

I need to make a plan.

–fourteen–

–emma–

“Hi, Emma. It’s been along time since I’ve seen you. What brings you into my office today?”

“Hello, Dr. Peterson. Ithasbeen a while. How’s parenthood treating you?”

He smiles wide, his eyes lighting up. “Well, we don’t get a lot of sleep, but neither of us would have it any other way.” I update him about how the boys are doing, while he shares his experiences as a new dad. “I’m sure you didn’t come in to catch up on my life. How can I help you today?”

“Well, I’ve been experiencing some pain here.” I show him the area at the side of my breast. “I found out a few months ago that I’d been wearing the wrong size bra. It caused quite a bit of redness and discomfort. I was hoping my newbrawould sort out the issue, and it has to a degree. The redness is gone, but it still causes me a dull pain, especially toward the end of the day or if I do strenuous work. It feels as though there’s a lump there, so I thought I should get it checked out since it’s not going away.”

He nods thoughtfully, eyebrows furrowed low as he makes notes on his computer. “Do you mind removing your shirt?” I nod. “Keep your bra on at this stage, let’s take a look.”

He gets up to wash his hands in the small sink behind his desk. As he dries them, I remove my shirt with shaky hands—I’m sweating like anything. I’m a little scared that it’s going to be something serious and I should have come sooner instead of ignoring it in the hopes it would sort itself out. Raising my arm, Dr. Peterson takes a closer look, moving the side of my bra out of the way. “Sorry, my fingers may be a little cold.” He presses against the area, moving his fingers, applying pressure in different areas. I wince slightly as he touches the most painful area. “Okay. You can put your shirt back on, thank you.”

I get dressed, my hands still shaking, as he moves behind his desk. “Do you feel any heaviness in your breast or arm?”

“Yeah, this breast sometimes feels heavier than the other one. It’s not a regular thing though.” My heart’s starting to pick up speed the longer Dr. Peterson spends writing notes.

“How about when you lift your arm?”

“Yeah, if I do it a lot. I’ve been trying to be careful not to overdo it.”

“What about the area behind your armpit?”

I have to stop and think. “No, nothing there.”

“Good, good.” He continues making notes. “Have you been feeling tired?”

I laugh. “I have two boys, one of which rarely sleeps through the night. I work full-time and am the only adult running the household. I’m always tired.”

He gives me a polite smile. “Have you noticed if you’re feeling more tired than usual since noticing the issue at the side of your breast?”

I shake my head. “No, not really.” Fidgeting in my seat, my tummy rolls with nerves. “What do you think it might be?”

“I’m thinking you may have blocked lymph nodes. The lymphatic vessels are very thin and if you’ve been wearing an ill-fitting bra for a long period of time, the repeated pressure may have caused the vessels to close.”

My hand flies up to my throat as the beats in my chest increase. This doesn’t sound good. “What does that mean exactly?”

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