Axel’s deep chuckle rumbles in my ear. “I know. Just a couple more days.”
“A couple days feels like forever,” I whine.
“I know, doll. I miss you too.”
“At least I’m not alone in this whole missing someone thing.”
“Not alone at all. Get some rest. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Only if you’re sure you don’t want to come over,” I say, trying again to convince him.
“You know I want to be there…”
“But it’s late,” I interrupt his usual spiel.
“You forgot about the screaming part,” he growls.
“Okay, okay. No more teasing me.”
“Good night, doll. Sleep sweet.”
“You too.”
Despite my argument that I wasn’t tired, I am, in fact, exhausted. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
* * *
Tonight’s the night.Axel is off work, and Marsha is babysitting. I have a date with my daddy in a private room. It’s been a long damn week. One that I’ve spent organizing and purging the whole apartment. You’d be surprised how much can accumulate over half a year.
I pull my hair up on top of my head, determined to finish the last closet today. If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve been avoiding it. I saved it for last because when we moved, I shoved the last few boxes in there and shut the door.
I put Henry down for his nap and try to mentally prepare myself to go through those boxes. I don’t know what’s in them besides that they are from before the accident. Someone—probably my parents—packed up the house that I shared with William, and these are the few things they decided were important enough to keep.
I pull out the three boxes and sit on the floor beside them.
I can do this, I say to myself.
I close my eyes and open the first box. Right on top is the photo album from our wedding. I hug the book to my chest as the first tears fall. I close my eyes and will myself back under control.
I’m strong enough to face this now.
I am.
I set the album aside and start to pull more memories from the boxes. By the time the three boxes are emptied, I’ve cried all the tears I have left to cry and feel as empty as those boxes. I’m surrounded by my past, and it hurts so bad I can barely breathe.
“Mommy,” Henry says from his doorway.
“What is it, buddy?”
“I had an accident,” he says, then bursts into tears.
I wipe my own tears from my face and go to my son. I pick him up and carry him to the bathroom.
“It’s okay, buddy. Accidents happen. We’ll get you cleaned up, then I’ll wash the blankets, and it’ll be good as new.”
“Are you mad?” he asks with a sniffle.
“Never, buddy.”