Page 18 of Could Have Been Us
He nods, his own tears spilling over. “I can’t live in a world without her.”
The pain in his voice is almost too much to bear. “She loved you very much.”
“I was a lucky man.”
Misty often spoke of how hard things were for them before Kinsley. They had tried for years to have a baby, leaving them broke and also broken. She suffered through six miscarriages, and each one stole more hope from them both. Samuel took each loss as though he were at fault and Misty couldn’t do it anymore. They had been passed over three times by other pregnant mothers, which drove distance between them. Still, their love was strong enough to get through it, and then, when they thought they’d learned to live without a child, they got the call that I wanted to meet them.
“I think you were both lucky in that regard.”
“It seems my luck ran out.” His gaze returns to Misty’s body.
He’s wrong, he still has something precious to love.
He forces a smile as he looks to me. “Did you come alone?”
I hear the real question: Is Jack here?
“Yes, I have to return tonight.”
“I understand. It’s good that you came. Misty would’ve wanted you here.”
I settle a hand on his shoulder, smiling softly. “There’s nothing that could’ve kept me from paying my respects to a woman I cared so much for.”
“I appreciate that. I really do.” Samuel sighs after a moment, looking weary. “I don’t know what life is going to be like anymore. Kinsley . . . she . . . she’s struggling, and I don’t know how to help her.”
A pang in my chest keeps me from speaking. I know he’s struggling, but being here, thinking about Kinsley, is almost too much. “You’re a great father. I’m sure you’ll give her what she needs.”
He shakes his head. “She needs her mother.”
I’m right here.
No.
No. No. I am not her mother. I am nothing to Kinsley. I’m a stranger who gave up any claim to that girl.
“I should go,” I say as self-preservation kicks in. I don’t belong here, and the sooner I leave, the better it will be for everyone.
He gives me a quick hug before the next person waiting to pay their respects to him steps forward. I start to walk out the door, looking back one last time at Misty.
My heart aches. Everything about this is wrong. She was the best of us, and she’s leaving two people who need her.
When I turn back, leaving to head back to my life, I see her.
A little girl.
Twelve.
Brown hair, hazel eyes, and long, dark lashes. She’s staring at me as if she knows me.
Jack was right. Coming here was a mistake.
I force a smile, as though I don’t know who she is . . . as if she didn’t come from my heart and soul, and start to walk. My lips press tight, refusing to speak to her because, if I do, I have no idea what I’ll say.
Does she know who I am?
Does she suspect I’m her mother?
Did she show up tonight, wondering if I would come?
