“What did you think?”
“My dad was never there when I was a kid… I’m not sure if he even knew I existed. I never wanted to be that guy.”
Pain like shards of glass slices through my insides. I lift my watery eyes to his and tell him the truth. “You hurt me, Taron. You hurt me more than I’ve ever been hurt in my life… You made me stop believing in love. You almost made me stop believing in anything.” A wobbly inhale helps me to finish. “Then she was born. She brought me back… She gave me hope. She gave me peace. It’s why I named her Dove.”
“Noel, I—”
“Mama?” Our daughter’s sleepy voice makes us both take a step back.
She tucks her little chin, and her fist clenches, sliding around the bed where I should be lying beside her. “Mamma? What’s happening?”
Taron looks at me like he’s not sure what to do.
“Just go,” I say before climbing into the bed and sliding down beside her.
I scoot her closer to my chest as I hear him quietly slipping out my window. Tucking my chin, I kiss the top of her head, curling my body around hers and letting the tears stream silently down my cheeks.
I tell myself I’m not doing this again. I remind myself how far I’ve come…
I don’t need him to be happy. I don’t belong to him anymore.
It takes more effort this time, but I calm my breathing. I put him aside once more, put him back in the box where he belongs and fall asleep.
24
Taron
Sitting on the floor, my back against the double bed, I read and reread the words she’d written, erased, rewritten, scratched out…
Never sent.
Every word twists a knife of pain deeper in my gut.
Dear Taron,
I still love you…
Dear Taron,
Is there a time-limit on forgiveness? If there is, I haven’t reached it…
Dear Taron,
I should have told you this a long time ago…
When did she write them? Why did she never send them? Scrubbing my forehead with my fingers, I wonder if she might possibly still have any of these feelings…
How could she after what I did?
My eyes squeeze shut. Remembering myself back in those days is like pouring acid on an open wound. I was so fucked up for so long. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if I’d live to see another day. Sometimes I wasn’t sure I deserved to.
I sure as hell didn’t deserve Noel Aveline LaGrange.
An email from Sawyer actually gave me the push I needed to drag my ass to get help. He probably doesn’t even remember it. Looking back, it was one of those random messages we’d send on occasion, just letting each other know we were still alive, still hanging in there.
Another harvest has ended, and I’m tired but happy. It’s hard work, and in the past, before it all, I would’ve taken something like this for granted.
Now I realize another day is the best we get, another chance to try again…