For Lucy

Running her teeth along her bottom lip, her usual look of contemplation, she hums in agreement.

Silence settles between us, leaving only the soft tick of the clock on the bookshelf. It’s funny how over the previous five years I imagined having a quiet moment like this with Tatum where she didn’t look at me like I singlehandedly destroyed her whole world. There’s been so many things I’ve wanted to say to her. Yet, here we are, and I can’t think of anything to say.

“I feel …” She starts and then stops.

I glance up, waiting for more. It takes another minute or two for her to continue.

“I feel like there’s something I owe you. Something I should say. But I can’t figure it out.”

My expression remains neutral, and my tongue remains idle.

“It’s as if part of me feels like I should forgive you now. Yet … it feels weird to forgive you just because I put Lucy in a wheelchair.” She shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose. “God … that sounds so awful. Just because I put her in a wheelchair. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s a scraped knee.”

When she stumbles around for a few more seconds, I jump in and save her. It’s what I do on instinct. It’s what I’ve always done. “You don’t owe me an ounce of forgiveness. The tragedies in our lives are not some “tit for tat” reconciliation. I have no desire to blame you for anything. Not for Lucy’s accident. And not for the anger you’ve harbored since Austin’s death. I know what it’s like for me to lose a child. I know what it’s like for me to have a child who can’t walk. But I don’t know what it’s like for you or anyone else. There’s not a road map for this. There’s not a one-size-fits-all timeline for dealing with grief. If I could take away the guilt you’re feeling, I would.”

When she blinks, a tear escapes, and she swats her hand over her cheek to dry it. “It’s not normal, Emmett. You should be angry. Lucy could have died. Now, she’s in a wheelchair because of my negligence. If you love her the way you say you do, you should be angry for at least a moment. One fucking breath of anger to show you love her. To show the fear you had when you got the call about the accident. The hurt … the pain … the anger … it’s because we care. I need to know you care because the alternative is that I’m an unforgiving bitch who leaves her husband because she doesn’t know how to deal with the loss of a child.”

What am I supposed to say? I really don’t know. Maybe things were easier when she didn’t want to see me or speak to me.

“You need me to be angry with you? Hate you?”

“Yes.”

I grunt a laugh and run my hands through my hair. “And that will make you feel what? Less guilty? Newsflash … it won’t. Nothing I can do will undo what’s been done. Not if I hate you. Not if I forgive you. And you should know that. It’s been over five years since Austin died. And we’re divorced. You’ve met someone else. You no longer live in this house. But all I have to do is look at you, and I still see the grief, anger, and resentment as strong as the day you asked me for a divorce.”

More tears fill her eyes.

I slide off the sofa and crawl on my knees to the chair, resting my hands on her bare feet. “I’m not mad that you look at me the way you do. We’ve lost two children, and I know on an emotional level we will never be the same whether we would have stayed together or not. Nothing will fill that void. And I understand why you needed to find a way to simply not be reminded of it every day. This isn’t a competition over who’s more forgiving or who’s best at pretending to function normally. It fucking hurts to breathe most days, but I breathe for Lucy.”

And I breathe for you, Tatum. I don’t say that, but god … I think it. “Memories are enough. Remembering Austin. And remembering the way you used to look at me. The way you used to love me. It’s not ideal. It’s not the dreams we imagined. But it’s something. And when looking at what has happened to us … something is enough.”

Sniffling nose and lower lip trembling, she curls her hair behind her ears. “I grieve us too,” she whispers. “It hurts when you’re here. It hurts when you’re gone. It hurts to love you. It hurts to hate you. We died … and that just … hurts.”