For Lucy

“I’m staying.” I give Josh a look as if he’s out of his mind to think for one second that I’m not staying the night.

My daughter.

My wife. And fuck him if he thinks otherwise.

“Get some sleep. You have to be alert to save the world.” Tatum squeezes his hand.

He bends down to kiss her, and she stiffens when her gaze locks with mine a second before their lips meet. I don’t know what the timeframe is for unloving someone. It’s not five years. Not for me.

My love for her has not wavered one bit, so watching another man kiss her hurts as much now as it would have the day we got married. My heart doesn’t understand that it’s not okay for me to punch Josh in the face. All it knows is the love that’s infiltrated all four chambers, every vein and artery, every cell is permanent. Our hearts, mine and Tatum’s, are still virtually indistinguishable from each other.

“Goodnight. Both of you try to get some sleep,” Josh says.

I try to nod or look at him to offer some sort of acknowledgment, but I can’t. It’s her. It’s always been her. It will always be her.

And doesn’t that suck for me? Most of the time I don’t mind. Most of the time it’s comforting to love her. Not now. When she lets another man touch her intimately, it makes me wish that I could simply cease to exist.

The dimly lit room makes it hard to see her face, but I know she’s watching me watch Lucy and her monitors. What must she be thinking? Is she thinking about the accident and blaming herself? Is she thinking about Austin?

“I’m in your corner,” I say to Tatum while keeping my eyes aimed at Lucy.

When she doesn’t acknowledge me, I question if she even heard me.

But then she murmurs something, and I have to give it a few moments to make sure I hear her correctly. “Well, you shouldn’t be. You should be in Lucy’s corner.”

“It’s the same corner.”

Her head inches side to side. “I know you probably don’t remember this, but when I was in labor with Lucy, I made you promise to love her more. Love her more than me. That’s what parents are supposed to do—love their children the most. And in some ways, that was supposed to be the best way to show your love to me.”

Oh, Tatum …

I remember everything. And I’ve always done exactly what she asked me to do. And I lost her because of it. Something she will never know.

“I do remember. And I promised you I would.”

Her forehead wrinkles, and she clears her throat, shifting her attention to Lucy. “But you didn’t.”

Austin.

She means our son.

“But you can now. You can be in Lucy’s corner. You can put her first.”

“By what? Not forgiving you?”

Tatum drags in a shaky breath, and just as I think she’s about to release it, she bolts into the bathroom and shuts the door. Lucy stirs a bit, shifting her head to the other side, but she doesn’t open her eyes. Easing out of my chair, I follow Tatum, knocking gently on the door.

She doesn’t respond, so I push down the lever handle and it cracks open. With her knees hugged to her chest and her head bowed, she occupies the corner of the bathroom opposite the toilet.

“I did this …” she whispers. “And I’m so grateful that she’s alive, but it could have turned out differently.” Lifting her head, she doesn’t even try to hide the wet trail of emotions running down her face. “I could have killed Lucy. And she may …” She swallows hard. “She may never walk again. And you … you are so quick to forgive me.” Shaking her head, she closes her eyes. “That’s not okay. That’s not loving her more. Some things are unforgivable.”

“It was an accident.”

“No.” She continues to shake her head, a tiny muscle in her jaw twitching as she bites back her anger. “It was negligence. There’s a difference. You should know that.”

There it is … the accusation without actually saying the words. I should know that I killed Austin. That it was my negligence. That’s what she means.

“Well, I can’t divorce you. Do you want me to take Lucy away from you? Has my penance been nullified by your actions? Am I now the ‘fit’ parent? Or do we let your parents or mine raise her? Will and Andi? What is the solution?”

Threading her hands in her hair, she rests her elbows on her bent knees. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” I know what she means, but I need her to say it. After five years of looks, of the silent treatment, of hiding from me, I need her to say it.

“You know.”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure I do know. Maybe you need to spell it out for me.” Inside my half empty soul, there exists a need for pain. As much as I want her to love me without regret, I’ll take anything she’s willing to give me.