Page 169 of Every Silent Lie
“What’s Germany?”
“It’s a country,” I explain. “You’ll learn all about it at school one day.”
“Mr. Percival said he would teach me.”
“I want to come home,” I hear Chelsea say.
My body becomes stock-still as Albi chatters, his chubby finger swiping the screen to scroll through the endless pictures. I wait for Dec to speak. To tell her to fuck off. But he doesn’t. He says . . . nothing. And then the sound of a door closing reaches the kitchen.
“You sit there a second,” I say, lifting him onto a stool. “No stretching, remember?”
“Remember,” he confirms, lost in Spitfires.
I creep to the kitchen doorway and peek down the hallway. They’re gone, and the double doors to the lounge are closed. My eyes drop and dart to the floor, my heart sinking. I have no right to feel so shattered.
They were never mine to have. They’re hers. And she wants to come “home.”
To her home.
With them.
Where I don’t belong.
I turn around, watching Albi slumped over the phone, studying every picture of Spitfires he can find. He’s not mine.
I lost mine. Not for four years.
But forever.
I cover my face with both hands, squeezing my eyes closed. He didn’t tell her to fuck off.
I hear the front door open and drop my hands, seeing April breezing in, all smiles, followed by Blaine. They both falter when they see me, their faces falling. It takes everything in me to try and smile—try being the operative word. I feel completely lost.
“Morning,” I say, my voice cracked and broken. I go back to Albi, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and hugging him tightly. “Aunty April’s here now,” I say, sinking my face into his hair and taking in a strong dose of shampoo and Albi. Then I break away, forcing myself to hold it together as I go back into the hallway. They’ve got their coats off now. “Albi’s in the kitchen,” I say, heading for the stairs. “Dec’s got a visitor in the lounge.”
April frowns as I pass.
“I’m just going to get dressed.” I rush up the stairs and change into my jeans and jumper, grabbing all of my things and hurrying back down. I hear the sounds of astonishment coming from the kitchen, Albi no doubt showing his aunty and uncle his new obsession. I don’t want to say goodbye to that gorgeous little boy. But if Dec wants to keep his “family” intact and Chelsea comes home, I need to step aside. It fucking kills me, but I have to walk away.
My breaking heart pulls me back toward the kitchen.
My head leads me out of the front door, not looking back.
December 23rd
I don’t remember getting home yesterday. I vaguely recall getting a bottle of wine out of the fridge, but I don’t remember finishing it. Don’t remember having a shower, which I only know happened because my hair was still damp when I woke up. I don’t remember unwrapping the collage of pictures of Noah. I don’t remember tipping out all the unpacked boxes and hanging Mummy’s and Noah’s stockings on the wall.
I do remember sobbing for so long my face is stinging and blemished today. And I do know I can’t be in this apartment alone a moment longer. I feel numb. Hollow.
Back to square one, except I have an added loss as fresh as the loss of my child to cope with. And more anger, but this anger is all for myself for being so naïve and ridiculous to believe my life could bear any semblance to normal again.
This is on me.
Dec’s absolute silence—no message, no call, no visit—screams his answer. He loves me. So much. But the stability he wants for his child outweighs that.
He’ll move on. As everyone else seems to do.
I wrap up and step into my boots, pulling a hat on as I search my apartment for my phone, trying to remember the last time I saw it. I can’t. And I don’t need it, anyway. So I abandon my search and head out, looking up at the white sky when I make it outside. One fat snowflake floats down before me and lands on an icicle that’s formed on the bare blossom tree, and something inside the frozen water shines at me, pulling me close.
