“You’re…you’re still here.”
“I’m here.”
“You’re real?” It’s definitely a question this time.
“I’m real, Hannah.”
“Oh, God!” She throws her arms around my neck, nearly strangling me.
She tucks her forehead against my chest and starts to shake all over. I wrap my arms around her back, holding her as tightly as I dare, and breathe a sigh of relief. I know this is far from over, but having her acknowledge that I’m here is huge.
“You weren’t there.” She pulls back and looks at me. Her eyes fill with tears. “I kept thinking you were going to show up, but you didn’t. They just kept…they kept going, and you weren’t there.”
“I know. I…” I don’t know what to say.
Hannah begins to sob as she buries her face back in my chest—huge, terrifying sobs that shudder through her body. Her grip around my neck tightens, and my ears burn with her cries.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Every defense, reason, and justification for abandoning her jump to the front of my brain. I want to tell her I was shot in the back. I want to explain to her how it felt to look down and see my own intestines through that hole in my side. I want to tell her how much it hurt to grab my skin and hold it closed while trying to remain conscious enough to stitch myself up. I want to tell her that I’m
not completely sure how I managed to survive and that I was trying to get to her—I just couldn’t get there fast enough because I didn’t have time to fix my leg properly. I want to tell her that I still walk with a limp sometimes because of it.
I don’t.
It doesn’t compare to what she’s been through.
“God, Hannah, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never should have left you alone.”
I feel her tears soaking through my shirt. I remember the first night she was with me and how she had held me and cried then. I’d felt so awkward. I didn’t know how to respond. I still don’t know how to respond.
This is all my fault.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I say it over and over again as if it makes some kind of difference. As if it takes away anything that’s happened to her.
My eyes ache with my own tears. I just want to be able to take all her pain away. I want to erase it, but I can’t. I can’t change what’s happened, and I can’t do anything about the constant reminder she will have of what she’s been through—the baby growing inside of her.
Slowly, Hannah’s choking sobs diminish to raspy breathing and eventually quiet. I hold her to my chest as my own tears dry on my cheeks. My eyes burn and my head aches, but I don’t move. We stay like that for a long time. I don’t have any comforting words. I just hold her until she shifts in my arms and moves her hand from behind my neck to my shoulder.
She slides her fingers down my arm until she comes to my hand. She takes it in hers and then places it over her stomach. I close my eyes again as my throat tightens up. I wait for her to tell me it’s my fault—that she blames me for this child she never wanted and will never be able to love.
All because of me.
“It’s yours, you know,” she says suddenly.
“What?”
“The baby—it’s yours.”
My heart flutters in my chest.
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.” She shrugs.
She can’t possibly know that. Even if she found out she was pregnant shortly after she was captured, she couldn’t know for sure if it’s mine. We’ve had sex exactly four times. There is no way I could have gotten her pregnant.
Is there?
We hadn’t used protection. I remember seeing a box of condoms in one of the stores during a supply run and almost considered grabbing them. I wanted her, and I knew it, but it seemed in poor taste considering what she had already been through. It was simply too presumptuous, so I hadn’t taken them.