For Lucy

“We know the accident was Tatum’s …” She stops as if the next word no longer fits.

I shake my head. “It was an accident.”

“Yes, but as you know …” Again, she trips and can’t finish her thought. I might not be the one who needs their emotional state assessed. She’s clearly struggling.

I let her silent pleas continue for a few more minutes before I empty the rest of my juice and stand, taking my glass to the sink and staring out the window to the backyard. “Austin’s death was an accident. Tatum’s and Lucy’s crash was an accident. Sometimes people die from accidents. Sometimes they don’t. We can’t change the past. So the question is … what do we need in order to continue with our future? Tatum needed someone to blame. And she needed that someone to not be a face she saw every day. That’s okay. We all handle tragedy and grief differently. I don’t love her any less for what she needed after Austin died. Lucy didn’t die, but she might not walk again, which will feel like its own death. But I don’t blame Tatum. I don’t love her less. And I can look at her and see the woman I married. The mother of our children. My best friend. But that’s just me.”

“Had Austin not died on your watch … would you be so quick to forgive Tatum?”

“Yes.” I don’t hesitate to answer. “What happened with our children … it wasn’t intentional or malicious. Just accidents. And I don’t see Tatum as the reason for Lucy’s situation. I simply see a mother who is beside herself with grief. And I hurt for her. I want nothing more than to take away that pain. But I can’t. I’m not that person in her life anymore.”

My mom wipes the corners of her eyes. “You’re a good man, Emmett. I’m so proud of you. And my love for you has never wavered, not for a second. I hope you know that. The way you have loved Tatum is something far greater than I could have ever imagined. As much as your dad and I want to take credit for it, we can’t. You simply have a soul that shines. It’s pure. And your love is always … always real. And Tatum …”

“Is the love of my life. Now and always.” I turn to face my parents, resting against the edge of the counter. “After Austin died, I made you promise to never blame Tatum for the end of our marriage. Nothing has changed. Part of her died that day with Austin. It changed her in a way no parent ever wants to imagine. It’s not an emotion that can be tied into generic wedding vows. ‘For better or worse …’ well, losing him was something so much more unimaginable than worse. And even though Lucy didn’t die yesterday, I think Tatum lost another piece of herself.”

“How do you do it?”

I narrow my eyes at my mom. “Do what?”

“Watch her love another man?”

There’s no good answer to that question. Except … “She was never really mine.”

THEN

They said the second child would be super easy. We said more than eight years between kids would feel like starting over without the guarantee of an easy baby again.

We were right.

Lucy nursed. Slept. Pooped. Cooed.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Austin spit up nearly every ounce of breastmilk. Screamed (not cried, screamed). Slept in twenty-minute intervals. Needed to be held in a very specific way. Woke from the slightest noise or movement. Basically … he brought us to our knees for the first year of his life. Lucy essentially raised herself that year. She learned to spread peanut butter and jelly on two slices of bread and cut open a bag of precut apples from Costco for a snack.

A week before Austin’s first birthday, I made the mistake of sharing a general observation with Tatum.

“My wardrobe is pathetic.” She frowned as she stared into her closet after taking a shower while I put the kids to bed.

“You don’t need to wear anything as far as I’m concerned.” Standing behind her, I slid part of her robe off her shoulder and kissed her soft skin.

“Could you be anymore insensitive?” She whipped around, jerking her robe back up onto her shoulder.

I didn’t see that coming, not even a little.

“I thought you told me to go enjoy a nice long shower while you put the kids to bed so I could destress from a long day and shave my legs at least once this month. But clearly it’s all about sex … as if I don’t have two kids demanding enough of me every day.”

Whoa …

“That’s…” I held up my hands in surrender “…not what I was thinking.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh really? Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t want to have sex?”