Page 15 of Everything We Left Unsaid

Nine weeks, reads the first photo. Then ten, eleven, twelve. Each one has a number, and I suddenly realize what this is. She’s tracking her bump. Well, waiting for one to show up. I examine each photo, waiting for her body to change, and it’s almost like I’m there with her, seeing it as it happens. Almost. She looks the same in every photo, her flat stomach showing no signs that life is growing inside her, until she hits fourteen weeks. A tiny protrusion pokes out, stretching against her yoga pants and fitted t-shirt. Little by little, her belly grows every week. Her smile becomes more relaxed, her joy palpable in the sparkle of her eyes. Every time I turn the page, she looks happier than the page before. It makes my heart ache, knowing I wasn’t there to share in her happiness.

I almost close the album, not sure I can stand to look anymore. But I don’t. I have to keep going. I missed out on everything, and these pictures are all I have of that time. The bump photos end with week thirty-eight, and suddenly Abby is in a pink gown, lying in a hospital bed with an IV in her arm. I suck in a breath, nervous and scared like I’m there with her, awaiting the arrival of our little girl. Turning the page, my heart races in anticipation.

There are tears in Abby’s eyes, but she looks happy, elated, even. A tiny pink figure with white smudges on its cheeks rests upon her chest, snuggled under her gown. One of Abby’s arms is draped across the child’s bottom, while her other hand cradles her back and head. Abby’s lips are pressed to the top of Chloe’s head, her hair the same shade as Abby’s, still matted to her scalp with afterbirth.

I squeeze my eyes shut at the unexpected wave of emotion hitting me full force. How could I have missed this? Why didn’t she tell me? Was she afraid I wouldn’t want Chloe? What the fuck happened? I take a deep breath, trying to calm the anger that has replaced the hurt. I turn the page, knowing the pain will continue. Best to get it all over with at once. Just rip the whole damn Band-Aid off and let myself bleed.

A few more pictures of Abby holding baby Chloe, the look of unconditional love and admiration on her face making my throat tighten. I swallow past the lump and continue. Abby’s brother and grandmother, Tiff, and a few people I don’t recognize all take their turns holding Chloe and I’m instantly envious. They all got to hold my child. Long before I ever knew about her, they got to feel her weight in their arms, smell her new baby scent, and hold her soft hand. I’m so fucking pissed and hurt, I slam the album shut, toss it on the couch, and head for the door, ignoring Ama’s concerned voice calling my name.

I yank the front door open and jump off the porch, needing to clear my head and get away from this madness. Remembering Abby’s hiding spot in the woods, I turn and walk towards the trees that line the back yard, a light misting of rain dampening my skin. Good. I need to cool down.

Catching movement out of the corner of my eye, I steal a glance towards the driveway as a car pulls in and parks next to my Range Rover. Abby steps out, her concerned gaze landing on me as she grips the top of the door. I turn away from her and keep walking. I can’t look at her right now. We need to talk. We need to be alone and hash things out, but not right now. Not with my rage threatening to boil over and consume every hope I have of getting to know my daughter. If I blow up, Abby will make me leave, and she might not let me come back without legal intervention. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to make this situation any messier than it already is.

Thundering past the tree line, I look around, trying to remember the last time I came out here and which direction Abby took me. I need to find a place where I can think. My eyes spot the well-worn path and I trudge towards it, letting it lead me to the calming waters I seek. The creek is lower than the last time I was here, the smooth rocks of the bed showing in places, water barely trickling past. I pick up a handful of rocks and throw them as hard as I can, watching as they splash, all of them landing in different places. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, not from the physical exertion, but from holding in all my anguish.

I rest my hands on my hips and tilt my face toward the sky as the mist turns into a light drizzle. How fitting that it’s raining right now. Eyes closed, I breathe in the rich scent of damp earth and wet leaves. I’m not sure if it’s the rain, the distance between me and Abby, or throwing those rocks in the creek, but I’m starting to calm down and think more clearly.

“Jacob.”

I whip around at the sound of her small, timid voice. Her eyes are full of trepidation as she steps slowly toward me, like she’s approaching a wild animal instead of the man to whom she once made love.

I want to yell at her and tell her to go away. I want to hate her. But the way she looks at me, like she’s just as broken as I am, makes my heart ache. It makes me long to pull her into my arms and tell her everything will be okay. Shaking those thoughts from my head, I steel myself against her charm. I need answers.

“Why?”

She looks at me in confusion as though she has no idea what I’m talking about. She’s gotten good at deceiving me. Or maybe she always was, and I got so caught up in my feelings for her that I couldn’t see it. I never doubted her sincerity until now. In this moment, I have no idea who she is. Is this the real Abby? The sweet, shy, damaged girl who was hurt by the people she loved? Or is she the deceitful, manipulative woman who kept a child a secret from its father for no reason?

“Why did you do it?” I need to know. I deserve to know.

“Do what?” she asks, her voice tipped with desperation, her arms extended from her sides, palms facing outward.

“Keep her from me. How could you not tell me I had a child?” I step toward her, needing to look into her eyes when she answers. I need the truth, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell if she’s lying. “Why didn’t you tell me that we’d …” I gulp down a big breath of air, needing the oxygen to continue without my voice cracking, “…created a life?” She’s close enough for me to reach out and touch. I could push the damp strand of hair clinging to her cheek off her face if I wanted to. Balling my fists to keep my hands at my sides, I wait for her to answer.

The sky darkens and the light sprinkle turns to heavy rain, but we don’t move. We stay put, our gazes locked as her eyes narrow.

“I did,” she spits out, her voice raising.

“No,” I counter, stepping closer to her, invading her space, “you didn’t.”

She raises her chin defiantly, her eyes never leaving mine. “Yes,” she asserts with full confidence, “I did.”

I turn away from her, pulling my hands through my hair in frustration. “No, you didn’t!” I yell, startling her. “I would’ve fucking remembered if you’d told me you were having my baby!” Her eyes widen at my raised voice. I’m not proud of myself, but at least it got her attention.

“Apparently not!” she shoots back. “Because I did tell you. Were you drunk when you finally answered my text and forgot about it? Have you suffered a head injury since then?” she demands, anger and sarcasm fueling her. “Because I distinctly remember the conversation we had. Was I that insignificant to you that you so easily forgot me telling you I was pregnant?”

Her body inches closer to me, but not in the way that used to make my groin ache and my hands yearn to touch her. She’s furious, her finger jabbing into my chest, rage and accusation simmering in her green eyes, glowing even more vibrant with her emotions heightened.

My brain struggles to catch up to everything she just said. What text? What conversation? How could she ever think she was insignificant? Fuck! She was everything to me. I was in love with her. Even now, looking at her wet face, hair drenched with rain, her damp shirt clinging to her luscious curves, I still feel something for her. I don’t know if I should, whether it’s wrong or right, but I do.

I turn my back to her and walk towards the water, wracking my brain. There’s no way I would’ve forgotten. She’s mistaken somehow. Or else she’s lying. Either way, I need to get to the bottom of this.

“Tell me everything.”

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