Emilia

The first thing I notice is the pounding in my head. My eyes burn, even as they remain hidden behind swollen lids. With a forearm, I shield myself from the sunlight permeating through the bedroom window. I can remember a time when I welcomed the brightness of a new morning, but not today. Today I’d give anything to find myself surrounded by the darkness of night once again.

Sleep has become my greatest ally. A welcome reprieve from reminders of Creed and the mess he left behind. Every minute in this house is an exercise in perseverance, and I’m too tired to even pretend to try. It’s the reason I choose to ignore the dawn of a new day, instead I roll over onto my side with a pillow over my head.

Still, the pounding in my head continues. My body aches, likely from the weight of the depressive cloud that’s descended upon me. I’m sure the lack of food in my belly isn’t helping matters, but in my current state, I can’t stomach the thought of eating anything.

After four days of worrying, Lucas finally called in Hannah, who promptly made a house call. That was yesterday, and seeing her did little to improve my mood, let alone my lack of motivation. At least she gave Lucas the reassurance I was okay. That all I needed was a little time. It was enough to ease some of his concern, though it still lingers in his expression even as he tries to hide it from me. Whenever I see it, it just brings it all back. Everything I’m trying to forget. All the lies I didn’t see, and the foolish way I believed the promises that were made.

As I lay here feeling like my life has ended, I realize that none of this is about Creed. It’s a sad truth that I didn’t marry him for love. I married him for the stability he promised to provide and if I’m honest with myself, I married him with the hope that over time he’d fill the void Lucas left behind. I was so damn naïve it’s no wonder I’ve ended up here. Abandoned yet again after marrying the man who promised to piece me back together, after the man now offering me his protection wrecked me in the first place.

I just can’t help but wonder what was the point. All the years Creed and I were together, all the sacrifice and sleepless nights as I worried about him—his job, his safety—all while caring for our young children alone. What was it all for?

 A vow?

An idea?

The cultural belief that marriage is forever and that the only way to a happy family is with a mom, a dad, kids, and a home full of pictures that show all the love but none of the heartache?

For 7 years I had exactly that and you know what? The happiness I found… it wasn’t truly real! Not entirely anyway. It was an illusion I created with staged family photos, a beautiful home with colorful walls, and a fake smile that served the dual purpose of convincing me, just as much as the rest of the world, that I was happy. That I had succeeded in my quest to provide the happy, healthy home my children deserved. The type of home my parents failed to provide for me.

“Emb, it’s seven. Are you waking the girls, or would you like me to?” Even in my depressive state, his voice—rough from sleep—awakens something deep inside of me. It’s a mere sliver of a feeling, not enough to break through the mental fog that’s consuming me.

“I’ll get them. I just need a minute.” It’s what I answer, on this day five of my new life. It’s the same answer I’ve given every time he’s come to wake me. I hate to admit it, but deep down I’m grateful when he ignores it and proceeds without me.

No sooner does he close my bedroom door than I hear him in the girls’ room. Their cheerful voices filter into the space and choke me up with emotion. Just days ago, those sounds would have filled my heart with joy, but now all I feel is numb. As though I’m living in suspension, not quite in my life, but not quite out. It’s an odd sensation. Like I’m this empty human vessel devoid of any feelings other than brokenness.

That my kids aren’t enough motivation to get me out of this bed is a huge red flag. I know I can’t stay here like this. Sad. Scared. Alone and content to wallow and drown in self-pity. I know I have to go on, if not for me, then for them.

But how?

I don’t know where to start. Where to pull my energy from. Try as I might, I can barely muster the strength to open my eyes, let alone climb out of this bed to find a path forward.

The tears I’ve come to hate return in earnest. The hopelessness in my heart renders me incapable of much else other than lying here and weeping.

“Embree…” My sobs are so overpowering I only notice him when he sits on the bed next to me. His hand comes to my back, rubbing soothing circles I barely feel. “Sweetheart, while it may not feel like it right now, I promise you will get through this.”

“I don’t know how to do this. I feel like I can’t do this.” Through tears, I repeat myself, over and over.

“You can, and I’m here to help you figure it out. For now, let’s start with today. This moment right here. Let’s take a second to let it all out and after we’ll work out what comes next.”

It’s a starting point. Something tangible. A place to build from and where I can find the traction I so desperately need. His words, his touch… he somehow anchors me back to solid ground. It helps and by the time the tears slow, I’m lulled back into a moment of clarity. For the first time in days, I feel something other than hopeless.

Regaining control over my emotions, I look up at him and say, “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I’m exactly where I want to be.” He leans down. His soft lips graze over my forehead as he gives me a gentle kiss. When his eyes come back to mine, he asks, “What do you say we head down for a little breakfast? The girls are waiting for us.”

“Okay.” I attempt to return his smile, and though it’s half-hearted, I can tell he appreciates how hard I’m trying.

Reaching for my hands, he helps me out of the bed and then steadies me. With his firm hands at my waist, and those eyes focused intently on me, my body warms. A sense of recognition falls over me as the tether that binds us pulses between us. Like a beacon, it calls to us, drawing us to get closer, just like it always has. I can tell he feels it too, for he reaches up to caress my face as he looks deep into my eyes.

“Thank you for letting me be here for you.” His voice cracks, and a slew of emotions I can’t decipher pass over his features.

With our gazes locked on one another, as our bodies move ever closer, my heart begins to race. Unlike other times this has happened, it’s not lust that’s triggering the response, but fear. Because I’m doing it again. Falling for the lie that there is something more between us. Something akin to hope, which in my current state, I can’t afford to have.

Averting my gaze, I step away from him. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I decide what he’s done for me this morning is more than enough. I’ll take this moment he’s given me and build from there on my own. Given the circumstances, I can’t allow myself to rely on him.

“Can I meet you down there?” I ask while glancing down at myself. When I realize I’m wearing nothing but a long t-shirt, I cross my arms over my chest. While what I’m wearing is not entirely inappropriate, the way he’s looking at me leaves me feeling exposed. Bared. Unprotected.

“Sure.” He shifts uncomfortably as his eyes scan back and forth between mine.

I can feel him digging through what he sees, pulling away the layers I’ve erected to protect myself, to find my most intimate thoughts. But I’m careful. This time I don’t let him see. He takes one last look at me before making his way back out through the door. And when he closes it behind him, instead of relief, it’s the feeling of emptiness that returns.

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Author’s Note:

In this scene, Emilia begins to realize that maybe Creed was right. That her unwillingness to let go of her marriage was more about her attachment to the idea of marriage, than about holding on to a life with the man she married. Now that it's over and she's failed to give her daughters the life she always wanted for them, she's lost and unsure of how to move forward.

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