“Just do it.”
I step out of the sky lounge and lean over the rail, my head churning with thoughts as I gaze at the sea. It reminds me of Francesca’s eyes. Then I picture her rosebud mouth. The widow’s peak I love to trace. My hands clench around the railing.
She’s gone. And it’s on me. I pushed her away.
A clammy sensation tingles over my skin as I sway on my feet. The truth is I’m facing my biggest fear: harming a child with my own destructive past. Me, with my rough hands, holding another person’s future. It feels terrifying. Mind boggling.
A wave rises like an arm and crashes up the side of the boat, then ebbs away. Another does the same, hitting the hull. My breath catches.
Can I rise? Be a good father? Let fear go and accept love?
My eyes close as my throat tightens with emotion. There’s a secret side of me that I’m scared to look at, the part of me that yearns for someone to accept the shadows inside of me, for real love, for family.
Only I’ve been too scared to allow myself to ever dream of such a possibility.
I stare out at the Atlantic.
Reaching in my pocket, I tug out the letter I wrote to my mother, rip it into pieces, and toss it into the water. It floats for a moment, rides a wave, and then ebbs away.
I watch the pieces sink beneath the sea. My mother is who she is. I can’t change her. I can’t make her forgive me—or love me.
My clarity rises stronger, and my head feels clearer than it has in days. My childhood has trapped me for years, creating a hollow man who didn’t know how to let others in.
Then a princess came along, tore down my defenses, and stole my heart.
A ragged sound comes from my lips.
Who says this has to be my life? Only me.
I think of the compass Francesca gave me.To guide you home safely,she said.
Is my penthouse home without her? The loft? The yacht?
Nowhere will be home without her.
She knows my chaotic past, how it shaped me.
She accepts me and embraces me for who I am.
And when she gazes at me, Jesus, I see her love for me—and it doesn’t come with strings. She doesn’t want my money. She doesn’t want the celebrity footballer.
Her love is steadfast. Solid.
“She only wants me,” I murmur to the sea in a wondering tone.
Yeah, surprising things have happened. I’m going to be a father.
But being part of a family doesn’t have to be about anger, guilt, or blame.
Having a child doesn’t have to be full of fear. With her next to me, we can climb each mountain together; we can battle the chaos that might come.
In my heart there’s still a flicker of faith in her, in us.
It’s not over yet. It can’t be.
My hand slaps against the railing.
I have to make amends, and I’m going to come out swinging.