Page 103 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
Tonight, at least, Mara’s sound asleep in our master bedroom. Finally. After four straight nights of barely making it throughpumping without bawling uncontrollably, she took two sleeping pills and went under like she hadn’t slept in years.
None of what’s happening to her now is her fault. I’ve read every article I could find. Postpartum depression’s worse with prematurity. The NICU stay didn’t help. Compounded by the stitches from giving birth naturally. Hormones. The fucking fear. We almost lost him before we met him.
So, I can’t be angry and I’m not angry.
I’m something else.
Something more restrained.
Guilty.
God, the guilt I carry for not being the man who can give her what she wants.
Mara’s smile used to be as bright as the sun. I’ve never met anyone who can make people feel more at ease. She quit her career to be with me and it wasn’t enough. Right before I planned to end it, she got pregnant.
Now we have a premature baby and she flinches at her own reflection.
Yeah, I’m a real fuckin’ prize.
Deciding to check on her, I carry Rafferty in, expecting the usual scenario. Shades drawn, air stale, Mara half-buried under quilts with her eyes closed, sleeping or pretending to sleep.
Instead, she’s upright with her thin arms wrapped around her knees. Hair loose. Staring at the pale light from the lamp on the nightstand like she’s forgotten what day it is.
“Mara?”
“Hi.” She doesn’t look at me or him. “It’s okay. Come here.”
I settle on the edge of the bed, sleeping Rafferty is pressed to my chest.
Her fingers twist the blanket until the fabric groans. “I need to tell you something.”
My pulse kicks, but I nod. “Sure.”
“I was finally able to sleep, and when I woke up, had some clarity.” Her voice stays flat. “The thing is, ever since I got pregnant, my brain won’t stop. It’s been worse since he was born. It’s not just the hormones. or the fact everything hurts. Not really.”
She glances over, and her eyes are wide and wet. “It’s all-consuming guilt.”
Wait,what?
I stay quiet. Let her speak.
“I did something I never thought I would. Something I hate myself for. And it’s eating me alive.” The blanket bunches tighter in her fists. She breathes in once. Then out. “I overheard you. Last year on tour. You didn’t know I was outside the stairwell. You were talking to Liam. You told him you didn’t see a future with me.”
My throat tightens, because I distinctly remember the conversation. It happened after Mara was so angry I couldn’t walk the streets of Paris with her, she refused to come to our show.
“I felt it, even before. You pulling away,” she continues. “The way you kissed me started changing. We didn’t have sex very much. So I made a choice.”
She pauses. Then—
“I had my IUD taken out.”
All the air leaves the room.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to lose you. I thought if I got pregnant, maybe… I don’t know. Maybe we’d make sense again. Maybe you’d remember how much fun we had together. Maybe you’d stay.”
Rafferty shifts, letting out a quiet, warbling sigh. I rub his back slowly. Hold him a little tighter.
“I know what an awful person I am,” she says. “I lied. I manipulated you. Justified it in my own mind and becamesomeone I don’t recognize. And now I’m stuck inside this body, this head, this haze. You’re a father because I forced your hand.” Her voice catches. “I don’t want to be the reason you feel trapped here. I need to free you.”
