Wrong Kind of Love

You may be right for me, Tor, but I am fucking wrong for you.

I will always love you,

Jude

Tears fall down my cheeks. I know what he's saying makes sense. Jude will be in prison until he dies. My pining for him is only causing my misery, but the thought of letting him go feels so impossible and hurts so much.

I tuck the letter into my purse and fight back tears as I step inside Lizzy’s house, freezing in the entranceway when I see a woman in dress pants sitting on the couch beside my sister.

“Victoria,” Lizzy says, offering a soft smile. “This is Mrs. Morgan from the adoption agency.”

Any sense of sadness Jude’s letter had caused is quickly consumed by anger. My jaw tenses, and I bring my hand to my stomach like my daughter needs protection.

Mrs. Morgan rises to her feet, holding out her hand. “It’s so very nice to meet you.”

“I’m not giving my daughter up for adoption.”

The lady’s smile fades, and she casts a confused look at my sister before glancing back at me. “I know it must be a hard decision, but—”

“No!” I brush past her, my pulse on a steady incline. Then I stop in front of Lizzy. “I am not giving my daughter up for adoption.”

“I know you think you love him, but—”

“I do fucking love him, Lizzy.”

She rolls her eyes, and that sends a hot rage scorching through my veins. She has no idea what I’ve been through, what Jude and I have been through together. “Think whatever it is you need to make yourself feel better, but I will not give up my child.” I shoot a stern glare at the woman from the adoption agency, then excuse myself to my room. My annoyance and anger at the situation grow with each step I climb, but by the time I close my door, a deep sense of loneliness begins to set in. I’m so alone without Jude, and the very person who should love and support me, my sister, feels like an enemy.

At one time, all I wanted was to have my old life back. Now all I want is my life with Jude. No one here will ever understand me or accept my daughter. I feel like a stranger, a foreigner, an intruder, and I refuse to have my daughter grow up feeling unwanted by those who should love her. No matter how much Jude thinks I belong here, I don’t. No matter how much he thinks I should move on, I can’t. Too much has changed. Too much has happened. I am not the same girl who was thrown—bound and gagged—into Jude Pearson’s office. I will never fit in here.

I rummage through receipts in my purse until I find the crumpled piece of a courthouse envelope. One Marney gave me at Jude’s trial in passing with his number scribbled across the middle. That brief moment in the old man’s arms was the closest I’ve felt to home since Jude was taken from me, and he’s the closest to home I’ll ever get. Which is why I call Marney and ask him to come to get me.

The next evening, I leave a note for my sister on her kitchen counter before rushing outside and toward the truck parked and waiting at the end of the street. Maybe it’s shitty of me to do it this way, but she would have never let me go willingly. He’s barely out of the truck before I throw myself into his arms.

“Come on, now. We gotta get a move on.” He lets go of me and opens my door before rounding the front of the truck. The smell of fresh pine almost covers the lingering, stale scent of cigarettes when I get in.

“Tried to get rid of the cigarette smell,” he says, settling behind the wheel. “Bad for the baby and all.”

It’s sweet in a way that makes me smile. He pulls away from the house, and I feel lighter straight away.

“Figured the best place for us to go is the place we were supposed to go in the first place.”

“And where is that?” Jude never actually told me beyond the fact that he was setting things up for us to disappear, to have a life. A life he would now never be a part of.

“The Caribbean.” Marney turns onto the highway. “So, I sure hope you don’t have that baby on the plane.”

_____

The flight made me nauseous, and Marney ended up shouting at one of the stewardesses for not having ginger ale.

We’ve been riding down a tiny dirt path for the past half hour, driving through overgrown shrubbery and endless palm trees. Finally, the car rolls to a stop in front of a gate. Marney pays the driver, and we get out to grab our luggage from the back. A warm breeze drifts around me, carrying with it the soothing scent of the ocean as I follow Marney up a cobblestone path.