Page 31 of Finding the Pieces

No one’s looking at me. No one’s talking to me. What the fuck is happening?

Helpme…help us…please…

***

“Ellie…Ellie! Jesus Christ. Ellie,wake up,” Dom pleads.

I slowly sink into reality, the blurred edges of my nightmare falling away like the autumn leaves of our willow tree out back. The memories of the hospital operating room recede into the dark recesses of my mind.

A sheen of sweat covers my body. The hum of the sound machine playing through Luca’s baby monitor isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of my labored breathing. My heart pounds wildly, frantically in my chest—the aching, thrumming beat is powerful and the sensation only makes my panic worse, my entire body frozen. Our bedroom is dark, but a sliver of moonlight streams into our bedroom through a crack in the curtains. I see the outline of Dom’s face as he hovers over me. He’s pinned me to the bed, his thigh between my own and his body half covering mine. He’s gripping my biceps tightly, as if he’s trying to hold me together.

But my body isn’t falling apart this time.

Everything else is.

“Ellie, I’m right here. You are safe. We are safe,” his voice sounds just like it did that day as he parrots my mantra for the millionth time, trying to comfort my shattered sense of safety. A melody for a nightmare. Hearing that kind of terror in your loved one’s voice. Feeling how hard they’re trying to protect you, trying to comfort you, knowing they can’t do either.

He throws his chest over mine, his familiar scent grounding me. I breathe in through my nose, attempting to slow my breathing and keep myself enveloped in his scent. I try to imagine his arms can hide me from the poison in my mind. My breath stutters as I exhale and the tears hit me like a sudden storm finally breaking past the paralyzing panic. I choke out a sob, and Dom wraps me in his arms tighter, pressing his head into my neck. I weakly place my shaking hands on his lower back.

“Fuck, Ellie. I’m here,” I hear him say, voice unsteady. I can’t tell if the tears falling are his or mine anymore.

It feels like you’re getting better until you aren’t.

It feels like you’re making progress until you fall a thousand steps backward.

It feels like someday you’ll find yourself again, until you realize that person is gone and you’re not sure what’s left.

Chapter fifteen

Dom

After getting Luca down for his nap, I find Ellie in the living room, sitting in her favorite corner of the couch, leaned against a stack of pillows. Her legs are curled beneath her and her temple rests on her fist.

She’s wearing my old college hoodie again, several strands of her blonde hair falling out of the messy bun she’s thrown on top of her head. Our Christmas tree glows in the corner of the room, the only light she’s turned on. The giant festive bow decorations Luca loves to pull off the tree are scattered on the floor, victims of today’s playtime. Indie folk music is playing softly from Ellie’s phone, tossed aside on the cushion next to her.

She’s caught up in her e-book and hasn’t noticed me yet. I use the opportunity to take her in. A flash of her wedding ring catches my eye, the stone glinting in the flickering glow from the fireplace.

I remember the moment I first saw her in her wedding dress. The moment I put her wedding band on her hand and promised to give her everything, because she ismyeverything. I promised in public and in private to hold her close, guard her heart, and love her with my every breath.

I asked her to trust me with her life. I promised to fill it with joy. I promised to be understanding and patient, and she promised the same.

So many promises whispered across intertwined fingers, a bouquet, a suit, and a beautiful dress. But what does any of that matter if they’re just words? If I can’t make good on the promises I made, where does that leave us?

The encroaching fear that I’m too late—that we’re already headed over the cliff with no edge to grab hold of—shrouds my vision.

I asked Ellie several times over the last few months to try working with another mental health professional. I even invited her to my appointments with David, my therapist who I see once a month. She met with someone for a few weeks when she went back to work part time after her maternity leave ended. It all came to an abrupt end when it became clear it was a bad fit. A really bad fit. Since then, she hasn’trefusedto find someone new, more like she’s made it her last priority.

I know it’ll only make things worse if I push her—she needs to take a step like that for herself, not for me—so instead, I’m doing what I do best. I’m solving a puzzle…and Ellie is going to help me do it.

Her eyes, while stunning as always, have that lost look today. When she woke up from her nightmare last night, her eyes only held terror. It was like she was looking straight through me. She wasn’t lost, she wasgone, drowning in whatever horrible memories pulled her under.

She didn’t want to talk about it as I held her in my arms and softly stroked my hand along her back. She didn’t pull away, and I took long, slow breaths until her pace matched mine. Eventually, I felt her body soften in my arms and I knew that she had found sleep.

She didn’t want to talk about it this morning either. She sat beside Luca and me on the floor while we played and listened to his favorite song—this mind-numbing monstrosity about toothpaste tasting like mint chocolate chip ice cream—the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. She slid her palm along the floor until her fingers found mine, holding on like I was her lifeline. The moment had me reeling—when was the last time we simply held each other’s hand?

We’re always holding Luca, or grabbing the groceries, or cleaning the kitchen, or swiping something out of Luca’s reach, or doing something from our endlessto-do list. All things that seem stupid to prioritize now…when I’m sitting in front of my wife realizing I don’t know what she’s thinking anymore.

I used to read her so easily. I used tofeelher so easily. From the moment we met, we operated like two gears, interlocked and spinning together. When one of us stopped, the other did too. When someone shifted direction, the other followed in support. But now, we’re so disconnected I can’t feel her push or pull, and I know she can’t feel mine either. I can’t follow her lead, and instead, we’ve wound up so far apart that I can’t see where she’s going. We’re on opposite ends of the room, both spinning off without anything left to ground us, connect us, or slow us when the brakes give way.

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