Page 29 of Everything We Left Unsaid

Something in my chest tightens and I struggle to catch my breath. Deep down I know what this picture means. I feel it all the way to my bones. Hungry for information, I devour the article, my eyes flying over the words, searching for dates, craving the confirmation my soul desperately needs.

And there it is.

The time he claimed he was overseas with no access to his phone and no way to reach me is printed in boxy letters beneath his picture. He was telling the truth. The guilt of wanting to believe him, of needing to believe him floats away like leaves on an autumn breeze. I collapse to the floor in relief, my knees banging against the linoleum. Tears stream down my face but I force my eyes to stay open, unwilling to look away from the picture.

“Where did you find this?” I question, feeling slightly betrayed. “How long have you had it?” How long has she known the truth? How long has she kept it from me?

“Not long,” she offers hurriedly, crouching down beside me. “I was searching for something that would verify his whereabouts during that time and came upon this article the other night,” she offers. “But I thought maybe you two could reconcile without it. I wasn’t trying to withhold anything from you, I just...”

“He was telling the truth,” I proclaim between sobs, cutting her off, no longer caring about her rationale. My body sags with relief and gratitude fills my soul.

“Yes, dear,” she coos softly, wrapping me in her arms. “Yes, he was.”

Now what?

I’m at a loss.What am I supposed to do with the information I learned last night? Jacob has been telling the truth all along, and that naive girl inside me feels utterly vindicated for wanting so desperately to believe him.

So what happens next? Do we pick up where we left off two years ago and try to put the pieces of our shattered relationship back together, or do we start over fresh and try to get to know each other again? Maybe a relationship between us isn’t in the cards and we’re just meant to be parents to Chloe now. A longing ache settles into my chest at that thought. Until this moment, I don’t think I realized just how badly I wanted his story to be true so I could have another chance with him.

As soon as I see him with Chloe this morning, I feel instantly remorseful. How could I ever believe he wouldn’t want her? How could I be so stubborn and pig-headed that I wouldn’t even let him explain himself when he called me that day? I was such an idiot. All this pain and heartache could have been prevented if I had just taken the time to listen. If I’d swallowed my pride and put aside my own hurt for a few minutes, Chloe could’ve had a loving father in her life from day one.

The guilt I’d felt float away a few hours ago comes crashing back down, and when I hear Chloe and Jacob exchange “I love you’s” I damn near lose it right there in the middle of the hallway. This is all my fault. Blinded by self-preservation, I took the one thing from Chloe I always wanted her to have – her father.

We sit through breakfast in awkward silence, aside from Chloe’s indecipherable babbling. I don’t know what to say to Jacob. I can’t even meet his gaze, but I feel him watching me. He knows something has changed. The air is charged, tension and unspoken words hovering between us.

It’s a mercy when I finally leave for work, driving towards the park with a million questions and scenarios running through my head. I spend all day thinking about what I’m going to say to Jacob. I believe you seems woefully inadequate. Considering I never told him I didn’t believe him, it may be a slap in the face to hear that I finally realize he’s not a liar.

My Saturday shift is far busier than my usual weekday, so the day passes quickly. When I return home, Chloe is sitting on the couch rubbing her eyes like she just woke up from a nap, a cartoon playing on the TV across from her. Jacob lounges next to her, dressed in different clothes from what he was wearing this morning. I may have avoided eye contact with him over breakfast, but I memorized every detail of his appearance from my peripheral vision. My grandmother is in her chair, a pair of glasses she rarely wears resting on the end of her nose as she crochets. Three sets of eyes turn to find me when they hear the door shut. Jacob leaps from the couch as though my presence startles him.

“Mama.” Chloe yawns and I go to her, placing a gentle kiss on top of her head. Jacob’s eyes follow my every move and I feel the strain of unspoken words radiating off him in waves.

“I need to talk to you,” he addresses me in a low, serious tone and grabs my hand. My whole arm tingles at the unexpected contact. He tugs me toward my bedroom and I look back at my grandmother, searching her face for clues. She just shrugs, unaware of his intentions, but I catch the smile tugging at her lips just before I lose sight of her down the dark hallway.

He shuts my bedroom door behind us and walks toward my bed, scrubbing his hands over his face. He wants to say something, and I wish he would just come out with it. The tension practically radiates off his body, thickening the air and suffocating me with the weight of his unspoken grievance.

He glances over at me, an unreadable emotion darkening his icy blue eyes. “Her name,” he says simply.

I blink up at him in confusion. “What?”

“Chloe’s name,” he replies, and a sickening feeling settles into my gut. “Tell me her full name,” he insists, more demanding this time.

I curl my lips inward over my teeth and give my head a little shake, eyes wide and a little fearful. I should’ve known this moment would come, the moment I’d have to explain why I named her after his sister knowing – no believing – he’d never find out. Clearly, he already knows, or he wouldn’t be giving me that pleading look.

“Tell me,” he demands softly, coming to stand directly in front of me. He places his finger under my chin and tilts my face toward his. “Please,” he implores.

“Chloe Peyton Harris,” I reply softly, my voice cracking. He closes his eyes and swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.

“Why?” His eyes drift open, burning into me, searching my soul for answers. Overwhelmed with emotion, I stay silent. I pinch my eyes shut and try to turn away from him, but he forces my chin back up and demands answers. “Why, when you thought I wanted no part of being a father, when you thought I wanted you to get rid of her, did you give her my sister’s name?”

“Because,” I begin, trying to find the strength to keep the tears at bay. “I wanted her to have a part of you,” I admit. “Even if you didn’t want her, she deserved to get more from you than just your eyes.” I choke back my sob, not ready to confess the rest but having no choice. “And I hoped that, should she ever wish to find you, that maybe you could learn to love her if she had the name of the sister you loved more than anything.”

Pain flashes in his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For giving her Peyton’s name despite what you thought about me.”

“I was wrong,” I blurt out, and his eyes widen in shock. “For thinking that,” I clarify. I don’t want him to think I was wrong about the name. “I should’ve given you the chance to explain...” My voice trails off and the atmosphere in the room changes.

“You believe me?” He drops his hand from my face. I instantly miss the connection, but the warmth of his body invades my space as he steps closer.

“Yes,” I whisper. As soon as the word passes over my lips, his palms press against each side of my face and cradle it as his mouth connects with mine. His tongue slips between my lips and he drops his hands, wrapping them around my waist. His kiss is fire and passion, longing and lust all wrapped into one. It’s regret and heartbreak, a wrong that can’t be undone. But we can damn sure try.

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