Obviously, it was going to be a very long night.
By ten, probably thanks to the dose of medicine Elizabeth had given her before I arrived to their house, Lizzie’s pain had waned enough that she’d fallen asleep curled up on my lap as I rubbed continuous circles along her back. Elizabeth had said little, only quiet murmurings when she checked on her daughter, sweet words of reassurance and comfort.
Lizzie couldn’t have had a better mother.
For the hundredth time that night, I looked to the beautiful woman beside me. She appeared exhausted, dark bags beginning to appear below her honey-colored eyes, her blond waves in disarray from the number of times she’d wrenched her fingers through them. This time she must have felt me, and she lifted her eyes to meet mine as she smiled somewhat apologetically.
“Thanks for being here, Christian,” she said as if she thought my being here was putting me out.
I inclined my head, turning so that I nearly spoke against her ear. “Would you be anywhere else right now, Elizabeth?”
She glanced at our sleeping child and then back at me, her brow furrowed. “Of course not.”
I looked at her intensely. “Neither would I.” She blinked several times before she pursed her lips and nodded. My mouth fell into a small, sad smile, knowing part of her still didn’t believe it. But that was okay because I knew another part of her did.
It was just another thing that only time would prove.
We sank back into silence. The passage of time dragged by as patients were called back and others arrived to take their place. Elizabeth yawned, her eyes drooping. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath as she scrubbed her palm over her face.
“Here.” I shifted, laying Lizzie in her arms. Her eyes shot to my face, wild and pleading. Don’t leave me.
She fell back into distrust so easily. It stung. “I’ll be right back.”
Less than five minutes later, I returned with two Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee. I had prepared Elizabeth’s the way I remembered she liked it, one cream and two sugars.
She moaned in pleasure when I handed her the cup. “Christian.” She breathed in the aroma, and her eyes closed as she brought it to her lips. “You’re a life saver.”
Then she flashed me the first real smile she’d given me since I had come back into her life.
~
For what had to be the twentieth time in the last ten minutes, Elizabeth looked over her shoulder, checking to make sure Lizzie was comfortable. Lizzie had fallen back asleep almost the moment I’d put her in the car.
Elizabeth sighed as she faced forward, slumping deeper into the front passenger seat. Her elbow rested against the door with her head in her palm. “I always overreact when it comes to her,” she uttered, mostly to herself.
Glancing to my right, I smiled softly at the woman who owned my heart, who I now had come to know as one who questioned herself as a mother, worried that she was making mistakes, that she was too cautious or not cautious enough. Apparently, parenthood did that to you. She rolled her head across the headrest and turned to face me, her eyes tired but warm. My smile grew.
“What?” she drawled, returning a lazy grin.
“I was just thinking what a good mother you are.” I pulled into her driveway, cutting the engine and hoping I hadn’t ruined the amicable mood we’d fallen into over the last several hours.
She laughed quietly. “Sometimes I feel like I have no clue what I’m doing.”
Through the rearview mirror, I peered at the child she had raised, the little girl I had a hard time seeing as anything but perfect, and shook my head before turning back to Elizabeth. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself so much.”
The urge to reach out and touch her was almost too much to resist—the way her lips parted in response to my words as she stared across the small space at me, her body fatigued and mind weary. It reminded me so much of the way she used to look just before she fell asleep in my arms.
I quickly removed myself from the car before I did something very stupid.
Carefully, I gathered Lizzie in my arms and followed Elizabeth into the dark house and upstairs to Lizzie’s room where I laid our daughter on her small bed. While Elizabeth dug in the dresser to find Lizzie’s favorite nightgown, I pulled off her shoes and shorts. Guided by the dim light filtering in from the hall, Elizabeth and I worked together to get Lizzie ready for bed by removing her shirt over the sling that protected her elbow and wrist, her tiny fingers now swollen.
“You have no idea how happy I am this isn’t a cast,” Elizabeth whispered as we coaxed the shirt from her head.
I nodded. I couldn’t have agreed more.
Lizzie’s injuries could have been so much worse, but she had escaped with only a sprained wrist and the cut on her head had only required a simple butterfly bandage. Most important to Lizzie was the fact that it meant no shots. She’d been so brave with the doctor and nurses, sitting still as they’d examined her and ran a series of x-rays and cooperating while they placed the bandage above her eye and rested her arm in a sling.
I was so proud of her.
Lizzie barely stirred as I held her up and Elizabeth dressed her, pulling the pink satin nightgown easily over her head. She took more time to carefully maneuver Lizzie’s arm through the sleeve.
Elizabeth held the comforter back while I laid our daughter on the sheets, and for the first time in Lizzie’s life, both of her parents tucked her into bed.
Even under the terrible circumstances, it felt amazing.
Pressing my lips to my daughter’s head, I whispered against it, “I love you, Lizzie.”
She groaned an unintelligible response that went straight to my heart.
Standing, I yawned and stretched. The small digital clock on Lizzie’s nightstand glowed two-nineteen.
It was really late, but still I wasn’t ready to go.
From the bedroom door, I watched as Elizabeth kissed our daughter and ran a tender hand through Lizzie’s dark hair before she reluctantly stood and crossed the room.
I stepped out into the hallway and Elizabeth followed behind me, leaving the door ajar behind her.
We both breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief, the ordeal officially over.
Standing in the subdued light of Elizabeth’s hallway, the two of us were frozen, unwilling to move. There were so many things I wanted to say—needed to say, the silence between us expectant. It stretched on and inevitably became uncomfortable.
“You’d better get some rest,” I finally said, wishing I didn’t have to say goodbye.
She fidgeted. “It’s really late, Christian.” She wrung her hands. “Why don’t you stay? I don’t have a guest room, but the couch is really comfortable . . . if you want.” The nervous edge to her words dissipated as she extended her hand, reaching out but not touching. “Lizzie will want to see you in the morning.”
She seemed to think she needed to convince me. Didn’t she understand I never wanted to leave? But as much as I wanted to stay, I understood this was a huge offering for Elizabeth to make.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Yeah . . . stay.” Maybe she would never admit it, maybe she didn’t even realize it herself, but as I peered down at her, I knew she wanted me to stay. The armor she wore in protection of herself wasn’t enough to conceal the hope in her eyes.
I swallowed, searching for my voice. “Elizabeth—”
She held up a hand to stop me. “Please, Christian . . . don’t.”
On instinct, I stepped back and closed my eyes to keep myself from saying things she wasn’t ready to hear. Soon we would have to talk and lay it all out. But I heard her plea, and tonight I wouldn’t push her any farther than she was ready to go.
“Okay.”
The tension between us dissolved, and she moved into action. “Hang on a second.” She turned and disappeared into her room at the end of the small hall before she returned less than two minutes later with a new toothbrush and a pair of pajam
a bottoms.
“Here.” She handed the small pile to me. “Matthew left these here a long time ago.”
I looked down at the things in my hand and then back at Elizabeth, incredulous. Did she really expect me to wear these? Matthew wasn’t exactly my biggest fan.
She laughed and shook her head. “It’s fine, Christian. Just wear them.” She grinned and pointed toward the stairs. “There’s a bathroom off the family room.”
I chuckled at the confounding woman in front of me who amazed me at every turn. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Elizabeth had always been the most caring, compassionate person I’d ever known, and she still was. I just had to peel the layers back a little bit to see it.
How sad they were there because of me.
“Goodnight, Elizabeth.” A gracious smile spread across my face.
“Goodnight, Christian.” A moment was spent staring at each other, swimming in nostalgia and what could have been, before I turned and left her standing at the top of the stairs.
In the small bathroom, I shed my clothes and put on the blue flannel pajama bottoms, feeling a twinge of guilt as I did so.
I was tired, but there was an energy stirring in me, leaving me unsure of how much sleep I would actually get tonight. So many times I’d imagined this, what it would be like to stay here, though the circumstances now were so different than what had taken place in my dreams. I’d be sleeping on the couch—not with Elizabeth.
Running dampened hands through my hair, I exhaled and hoped I’d at least catch a couple hours of sleep. Opening the door and flipping off the light switch, I stepped into the dimly-lit family room and came face-to-face with Elizabeth.
I stopped mid-stride, surprised to find her waiting for me on the other side of the bathroom door. Her eyes grew wide when they hit my bare chest before her face flushed red and she averted her gaze to the floor.
“Sorry . . . I . . . um . . . thought you might like to see these.”
She extended her arms, snapping me from my shock as she brought attention to what she held in her hands.
There were three albums, the kind that were perfectly square and filled with hours upon hours of a mother’s artwork.
Elizabeth held them out farther, encouraging me to take them. I shook as I reached a tentative hand out to accept them, my mouth dry and unable to express my gratitude for her gift. As we both held the albums between us, she looked up at me with what could only be described as sympathy, a tenderness that broke my heart and healed it at the same time. She nodded as she withdrew her hands and then turned and rushed upstairs.
Acute anxiety and severe longing filled my chest as I thought of facing what was inside, the albums an oppressive weight. I slowly moved to the couch and placed five years of memories on my lap, memories I wasn’t sure I was ready to face. I ran my fingertips over the brown cover and struggled to find the courage to open it. It took five full minutes before I did. The muted glow from the lamp on the end table shed enough light to illuminate what the first page held—a birth announcement.
Elizabeth Grace Ayers
Born May 23rd at 4:37 am.
18.5” long
5 pounds 3 ounces
Breathtaking—heartbreaking.
Tears fell and there was nothing I could have done to stop them.
In my hands was the image of an infant child, her face red and new, her tiny mouth pursed. Even then, her gray-blue eyes were wide and expressive. A mass of shiny, black hair sat atop her head, my cleft marking her chin.
My daughter.
My fingers traced the picture.
So small.
I flashed back to the day I’d seen Elizabeth before she’d given birth—how thin, even sickly she’d appeared. Now to know Lizzie had been so small, it sent reality crashing down on me. My stomach twisted, my head spun, and sweat broke out across my forehead. Elizabeth hadn’t just looked sick, she was sick. I’d left her when she was sick.
I was a monster.
I choked on the lump in my throat and forced myself to turn the page—snapshots of a swaddled baby asleep in the hospital nursery, rocking in Matthew’s arms, pressed to her mother’s breast. The last was by far the most beautiful, the way Elizabeth held her daughter as if she’d found the world because she knew she had.
And I had missed it.
Each page showcased my daughter’s life, every milestone I had missed—first food, first step, first word, first birthday. Lizzie grinned at the camera with a pointy cap on her head, two teeth on top and two on the bottom, and a round cake with one candle sitting in front of her—surrounded by those who loved her.
I wasn’t there.
Images of a chubby-cheeked little girl, running, playing, always smiling filled the next pages. More birthdays, more Christmases, Easters, every celebration—five years of life.
And I wasn’t there because I had abandoned my family.
But when I turned to last page of the last album, I was. Lizzie sat on my lap with her arms around my neck, showering me in undeserved love as she thanked me for a birthday gift I’d had no idea if she’d even like.
Worse than seeing what I had missed was knowing what had to have been left out of those pages, what wasn’t put on display. Every sleepless night, every worry, every fear. Failures and missed goals. Heartache, every tear shed.
Swept away in grief, I tried to bury my regret in the pillow Elizabeth had left for me on the couch. It only smelled of her. I pressed my face deeper, trying to drown out years of sorrow and loss, to conceal the devastation tearing me apart. It felt like death, five years slain by selfishness and stupidity.
Who of us had paid the biggest price? The beautiful child who shone like heaven on every page, her smile joy—her face peace? Her mother, the one betrayed, the one who had worked so hard, loved so much that she had raised a child such as this? In the end, I knew it had to be me. I was the one who had lost, the one who had lived without, the one who was a fool to have ever imagined anything could have been better than this.
Without a doubt, I didn’t deserve to be here, to wrap myself up in the comfort of the blanket Elizabeth provided, to rest my head on the pillow that could only have come from her bed, to accept her kindness as she allowed me into her home.
Most of all, I didn’t deserve the love of Lizzie.
The night I’d fallen apart after Elizabeth had first allowed me to see Lizzie, I’d thought I’d understood, but I’d had no idea. The truth was, I never would. I wasn’t there and I would never really know. And there was nothing I could do to earn that time back. Even if Elizabeth forgave me, I didn’t think I could ever forgive myself.
As much sorrow as these stilled memories brought me, I couldn’t help but cherish the veiled experience, thankful to have a glimpse into life while I wasn’t really living at all. I lamented those years and hugged Elizabeth’s pillow close as I took comfort in her scent, took comfort in her presence as I praised her for sharing the life I’d chosen not to be a part of—praised her for being brave enough to allow me to be a part of it now.
That presence grew stronger, palpable. I jerked up when I realized I wasn’t alone, my eyes drawn to her. Elizabeth stood clinging to the railing at the top of the stairs, watching down over me, tears staining her face. Neither of us said anything aloud, though my heart spoke a thousand regrets, every one of them a plea for forgiveness I could never deserve.
In her eyes, I saw what I desired most.
Elizabeth cared for me—hurt for me—loved me.
I stared back and poured everything I had into that moment, praying for once she wouldn’t question that I did too.
She closed her eyes and took two steps back, uncertainty and fear flowing from the corners, exposing a wounded heart that had forgotten how to trust but hadn’t forgotten how to love.
~
I shifted deeper into the warmth, refusing to let go of the comfort of Elizabeth’s lingering presence as I buried my face in her pillow and pulled the blanket tighter around my body. An
unfamiliar nudging stirred me, dragging me from what I was sure were the two best hours of sleep I’d ever had.
“Wake up, Daddy.” A tiny giggle sounded close to my ear.
I rolled from my stomach to my side and then opened my eyes to paradise.
Lizzie leaned over me, grinning.
I blinked the sleep away, smiling as I focused in on the precious child in front of me. She still wore her nightgown but none of the pain from the night before.
“Hi, baby girl,” I rasped out, my throat raw from lack of sleep and hours of uncontained remorse. “Come here.” I lifted the blanket, inviting her to crawl in beside me. After last night, I needed to hold my daughter. She felt perfect as she settled next to me and rested her head on the pillow. I placed a kiss on her forehead before ghosting fingertips over the now bruised skin over her eye.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
“I’m almost all better. My arm only hurts a little bit.” Her fingers grazed over my chest as she flexed and extended her fingers in a show of recovery.
My chest swelled with emotion, her nearness eliciting a haunting sadness from the night before and an overwhelming appreciation for the grace I’d been given that allowed me to hold her this way today.
Her eyes burned, her child-like innocence overshadowed by a sudden deep awareness. “Daddy, what’s wrong?” The same swollen fingers reached out to caress my cheek in undeserved affection I would never take for granted.
“Nothing’s wrong, princess. Everything is perfect.”
And just like that, the child was back. Her eyes were alight as she wiggled out of my grasp and onto her feet. “Come on, Daddy. Breakfast is almost ready,” she said, attempting to drag me from the couch with her good arm
Her statement set my senses in motion. The smell coming from the kitchen aroused memories from long ago—bacon, eggs, and biscuits. My mouth watered and my stomach growled. Nobody made breakfast like Elizabeth.
Lizzie tugged on my hand again, clearly as excited over her mother’s breakfast as I was. With no resistance, I allowed Lizzie to lead me into the kitchen only to have my footsteps falter at the sight in front of me.
The Regret Series Complete Collection Box Set: Lost to You, Take This Regret, and if Forever Comes Page 27