If Forever Comes (Take This Regret #2)(36)
Author: A.L. Jackson

It was a small pewter cube.

It was different from anything I’d seen, different from anything I’d expected when Claire had told me it was there, but I knew it was her urn.

A delicate script was inscribed across the top.

Lillie Ann Davison

Forever In Our Hearts

There was no date.

He’d simply stated her time as forever.

And for a moment, all I could feel was Christian’s grief. It broke over me in a crashing wave. I gasped as it knocked me forward, and I held myself up with one hand as I struggled to breathe.

Had I been unable to recognize it then? Or was I just imagining it now?

But it was strong. Overpowering. As overwhelming as the confusion he spun up in me.

I fought against the oppressive weight that suddenly crushed my shoulders.

I couldn’t bear his sorrow, too.

I became frantic, picking up her things, pressing them to my face, to my nose, before I rushed to put her pictures and small things back into the box.

I thought…

I thought I could do this. I thought I was ready, but I realized then, I was not. I didn’t know if I ever would be. I couldn’t look at them because I didn’t want to let her go, and somehow holding all of her things made me feel as if I was trying to. It was just so much easier to hold it all inside, to box it up with all these things that I wanted to treasure, even when they just seemed to cause me more pain.

Sobs racked through me as I folded her blanket and hurried to place it on top of everything else.

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t let her go.

My pulse stuttered as everything slowed. My fingers curled into the fabric, and I cautiously drew the blanket back out. My eyes dropped closed as I held the satin trim at my cheek.

Chapter 14

Early June, Four Months Earlier

Frantic.

I couldn’t breathe.

No.

I clutched her to me, rocked her at my chest.

No.

“You have to let her go.”

This was all I had of her, and they were trying to take it away.

I fought, fought for her as I crushed her to me.

I just needed a little longer. That’s all I asked. Just a little longer.

I needed to remember, needed to feel.

This was all I had.

I begged.

Fingers dug into mine, pulling me apart, tearing her away.

“No!” It wept as a ragged scream as the place inside me that had been carved out for her was ripped wide open.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

That was all I had. Didn’t they understand?

Pain slammed me from all sides, pushing in and pressing out, rending and severing and destroying. It all spread out in a consuming agony.

Subdued, quieted footsteps pierced the room as they resonated across the hard floor, fell silent as the door was opened then fell shut.

They took her.

It throbbed, this hollowness that swallowed me whole.

She was gone.

Then I felt his breath at my cheek, heard his voice as it prodded, seeking to penetrate my ears. I’m sorry.

I wanted to lash out at him, spit in his face.

He let them take her. He was the one who’d said it was time.

He forced me to cast her aside.

She was gone.

Gone.

Pain clamped down on my pelvis, and my br**sts ached to feed.

There was no air.

I couldn’t breathe.

Six Weeks Later

“Mommy.” My name floated from her mouth on a whisper. A tiny hand pressed to my face. “Mommy, are you awake?”

I forced my eyes open.

Grief surged in.

I fisted the sheet against me and struggled to focus on my little girl. On the mattress, she leaned on her forearms, her chin to the sheets. Wide eyes peered into mine, her face two inches from my nose.

Rapidly, I blinked.

Lizzie turned a grin up at me, as if seeing my eyes open was the best thing she’d ever witnessed.

“Hi, Mommy,” she said.

“Hi, baby girl,” I whispered back, my voice hoarse from lack of use.

“You wanna play? I got my tea party all set up, and you have a special spot.” She smiled at me with wide, hopeful eyes.

I swallowed. The motion hurt. Everything hurt. My arms. My stomach. My head.

My soul.

My voice cracked. “Not today, baby.” I mustered a smile and reached out to gently touch her chin.

Her face fell with disappointment. “You don’t want to play any day,” she contended, almost whining, so out of character for my little girl.

Guilt slashed, raking its claws down deep in my skin, cutting as it splayed me wide. The wounds wept. I wasn’t strong enough for her. Wasn’t strong enough for either of them.

“I’m sorry, baby, Mommy doesn’t feel very well right now. Maybe a little bit later, okay?”

She nodded, watching me with an expression that read too much. She inched forward and placed a kiss on my forehead. “Okay, Mommy. Feel better.”

I mashed my eyes closed as she backed away, held them as I listened to her withdraw from my room. The gush of stagnant air I’d been holding in my lungs left me as I heard her retreating down the hall.

Within the safety of my bed, I burrowed deeper, tried to snuff it all out. The pain, the voices that continually told me one day it would be okay, as they spoke words that meant nothing.

I’d almost dozed off when I felt it.

Anxiety ratcheted through me the second I felt him emerge behind me in the doorway. Sickness crawled, slithered along the wounds that dripped from the surface of my skin. I could sense him, his intent stare as it swept over me. What used to feel like a caress now felt like an intrusion.

I pressed my eyes tighter, pretending to be asleep, praying that he would just leave.

I couldn’t handle him. Couldn’t handle his scrutiny, couldn’t handle the way he looked at me as if he understood.

I couldn’t stomach the anger.

“Elizabeth.” My name from his tongue was frustration and sympathy and raging disappointment. “You can’t keep doing this. Your daughter needs you. You need to get out of that bed.” His voice softened in appeal. “Baby, get up…let’s spend the day with Lizzie. Let’s go to the beach…do something.”

I stilled myself, trying to hold in the sob that rattled in my throat. If I just held fast long enough, he would go away. He would give up.

He would leave me.

This time, that’s what I wanted him to do.

When I didn’t respond, he released a frayed breath. “God damn it, Elizabeth, I know you’re awake. Stop ignoring me. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks.” He hesitated before he continued. “Please.”