Page 177 of Bossy Hero

Again.

Holding my cell in a death grip, I rub my thumb vigorously along the side of the phone case. I stare at the screen with unseeing eyes, waiting for a call or a text. Something to tell me he’s all right.

And more importantly, that he’s coming home to me.

As the hours pass by, my hope for that outcome dwindles exponentially.

I return my cell to my pocket, pick up the towel, and resume wiping the same two-foot square area of countertop I’ve been scrubbing for a half hour. It doesn’t need cleaning, but I need something to do.

If he doesn’t get back soon, I’ll resort to stress baking.

Alan has been off the grid for more than three hours now.

By the time this night is over, I will have no more fingernails. However, if we don’t find Alan, the state of my fingernails won’t matter. If I lose him, part of me will die.

Overdramatic? Yes.

But that doesn’t make it untrue.

This moment and the fear it evokes are part of the reason why I was so afraid to love him. It wasn’t a conscious fear, but it was there all the same. I see it now so vividly.

I know the pain of losing someone you love firsthand. And I also know how strong I am. Or should I say, howweakI am. A lifetime in this body has taught me a lot about what I could stand or what would break me.

A life without Alan, after loving him so completely and openly, would land me somewhere between the two options.

While my body would continue living without Alan, darkness would once again reside inside me.

With three grandchildren on the way, I have so much to look forward to. Memories to make and love to give.

So yes, I’d survive and live on. I’d even find joy again.

But it would irrevocably change me.

You can’t love and lose a man like Alan and expect to be the same as before you knew what it was like to be cherished.

When Sammy died, or so we thought, a gaping hole opened under my ribs. Unimaginable pain was all I felt for such a long time. And that agony expanded until it filled the hole. Yet it didn’t stop there. It spread like a virus inside me, bringing with it a blanket of darkness that I couldn’t see through. It nearly snuffed out my life.

I wanted to die.

It wasn’t the first time I’ve considered such a thing. When I was nineteen, I almost took my life. Hiding in the bathroom with a kitchen knife in my hand, I looked in the mirror and thought I was seeing myself for the last time. The mere idea of fighting tooth and nail for the right to live inside a mind and body filled with nothing but horrific memories was too much to take. Why go on when I thought my future would be more of the same?

However, like the coward I am, I chickened out.

If I hadn’t become pregnant with Leo when I did, I can’t say for certain if I would still be here. He became my reason for surviving. Drew and Sammy further fueled my desire to persevere.

I wish the same love I had for them would have fortified my resolve to escape from their father long before I did.

As time marched on, I learned that the strength required to escape from the cycle of abuse must come from within. External love is not the path to salvation. In the same way Alan couldn’t love me out of Travis’s hold, my love for my children couldn’t push me to leave him either.

It was only when I began to see myself as worth loving that I was able to set myself free.

Heavy footsteps pound down the hallway.

“Mom, are you down here?” my daughter calls out.

I force calmness into my reply. “Yes, dear. I’m in the break room cleaning up.”

When Sammy strides into the doorway, her cheeks are rosy, and her nose is puffy. As soon as her pretty blue eyes find me, she releases an anguished sigh. She spreads her arms wide, beckoning me into an embrace.

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