Chapter Twenty-Two
Lorelie
I drag myself through work the next day.
My nine-to-twelve shift feels longer than a twelve-hour one. My head is pounding; my nostrils are swollen from all the crying I did last night. I locked myself in my room and just… broke. I don’t think I fell asleep until six in the morning.
I feel like hell.
And apparently it shows, because even the nurses are giving me a wide berth after I snapped at an intern for leaving a used syringe on the tray. It may have been his first day, but he should’ve known better.
Gail’s already here for his shift, and he keeps hovering instead of taking the hint. Ever since Murphy left, the negativity left with him. Everyone, including Gail, went back to their normal selves.
I don’t know if it’s petty of me or what, but I sure as hell didn’t bounce back with them. They showed me their true colors. Now they get the polite colleague version of me, not the friend.
Gail leans against the nurse’s station while I sign paperwork. “I’m here,” he says. “Why don’t you head out?”
I shake my head. “My shift’s till twelve.”
Before he can say anything or ask why my eyes are swollen, an intern calls him over and I’m gone before he can come back.
With the way I feel, I decide to take a cab home. I don’t trust myself behind the wheel.
Walking up the driveway, I drag my purse like it weighs a hundred pounds. Genesis’s car isn’t here. Damn. I was hoping she’d pick the kids up.
I unlock the door, step inside, and stop dead.
What the fuck.
In my living room, sitting comfortably on my sofa like she lives here, is Eloise.
She jumps to her feet the second she sees me. “Hi, Lorelie. I hope it’s okay I used my key.”
I just stare at her. No, it is not okay she used the spare key we gave them for emergencies to let herself in when I wasn’t home. But saying it won’t make a damn difference now, will it?
When I don’t answer, she tilts her head. “Are you… okay?”
“Am I okay?” I repeat, dropping my purse straight onto the floor.
“Let’s see,” I say, holding up a finger like I’m counting.
“I found out my husband cheated. Forgave him. Then found out he lied, shocker, I know. Then I found out he’s an alcoholic, so every time I want to scream or throw something at his head, I can’t, because apparently that’ll send him into a relapse. ”
I take a breath before continuing my rant.
“Then his family, which I truly believed was my family, blamed me for doing the only damn thing I could do.”
My voice cracks, but I keep going.
“And now,” I say, swallowing the burn in my chest, “now he finally says he’s ready for a divorce…” my voice softens, almost embarrassingly, “and I don’t know what to do anymore.”
I gesture at her with both hands, tears burning again.
“Oh. And let’s not forget-” I wave at her, my living room, her coat, her comfortable posture.
“This.”
“Oh,” Eloise says softly. “You… don’t want to divorce?”
I bark a laugh straight at the ceiling. “That’s what you got out of everything I just said?” I shake my head, helpless. “You know what, never mind. I can’t expect anything else from you, can I?”
I turn on my heel and head into the kitchen, grab a glass, and fill it with water. My hands are shaking so badly I drop it in the sink. Frustrated I turn around, and see she’s still standing in the middle of my living room.
God just take a hint.
I shut my eyes for a second, trying to pull myself together.
“Look, Eloise,” I say, voice flat. “I don’t know why you’re here. And honestly? I don’t care. I just want to sleep.” I point toward the door. “You can throw that key out, by the way. I’m having the locks changed.”
She flinches. Just a little. And when I move toward the front door to open it for her, she blurts:
“I didn’t come here to…” She swallows. “I came to say I’m sorry.”
I just stare at her. No expression. No words. Just bone-deep exhaustion.
When she doesn’t continue, I shrug. “Okay?”
She wrings her hands once, then meets my eyes. “With everything that happened, with Harvey and Lauren, and with you two, I forgot something important.”
She takes a breath. “My son was the one who messed up.”
My brow lifts surprised she admitted one of her kids did something wrong.
“A year ago,” she says quietly, “I had three happy, fulfilled kids. Now I have a son who’s chasing his wife to another state, another who swears he’ll never move on, and a daughter who asked for space from me.”
She throws her hands up, voice cracking. “I failed. They tell Colter everything, but me-” she presses a hand to her chest “-I’m left out in the cold.”
I narrow my eyes. “How do I fit in all this?”
She looks down at her hands. “I always thought we had a good relationship. I know things were rocky at the start, but… I thought you liked me.”
“I did,” I say quietly.
She still doesn’t look up. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”
My mouth opens, then closes. I walk over to the sofa and sink onto it, rubbing my forehead. “I don’t know. I guess…” I shrug. “I assumed you’d take his side.”
She shakes her head, firm. “I wouldn’t have. I know for a fact that cheating isn’t always about sex.”
I blink. “You and Colter?”
She exhales slowly. “There was a time when he and his partner… well, I thought they were more. And in a way, they were. He told her things he never told me.”
I sit up straighter. “What happened?”
She looks away, her expression folding in on itself. “Back then, women in the police force weren’t common. He felt protective of her. Even from me.” She grimaces at the memory. “It wasn’t until I… left him that he realized how serious it was.”
My head jerks up. “You left him?”
She nods. “It was before Harvey was born. And it wasn’t for long.” A small, tired smile touches her mouth. “After that, he never crossed the line again.”
I look away, swallowing. “That’s good. I mean… but what about trust?”
Eloise thinks for a moment, her eyes drifting toward the window. “It took time,” she admits. “A long while, actually. But I loved him.” She lifts one shoulder in a soft shrug. “I didn’t want to look back one day and regret not trying.”
She sits up straighter then, leveling her gaze with mine.
“I’m not telling you this so you’ll do the same.
I had the freedom of not having kids. If I’d been in your shoes…
” She lets the sentence fade and tries again.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done. But I do know I wouldn’t have done it alone.
” Her voice gentles. “And neither will you.”
I stare down at my hands, throat tight. “Even if we divorce?”
Eloise reaches out and takes my hand in both of hers, warm and steady. “Even then,” she says softly. “You’re still my family.”
“Thanks,” I say, sniffing. I can feel myself fold like a pair of laundry. “And… you can keep the key.”
She actually laughs, a soft, embarrassed sound. “I didn’t mean to come in, I swear. I just really had to use the bathroom, and it felt strange to leave and pretend I’d never stepped inside. You know I’d never do that to you.”
I nod, wiping beneath my eye with the back of my hand. “I know.”
“Good,” she says, standing. “Now go to sleep. I’ll tell Patrick to keep the kids tonight.”
“You don’t have to,” I mutter.
“I do,” she replies firmly, already moving toward the door. “Now off to bed.”
I close my eyes for a second, listening to the front door slam shut.
Just a second.
Patrick
“Okay. Yes. Alright, Mother,” I say into the phone, pinching the bridge of my nose.
With the way she’s trying to convince me, you’d think I refused to keep the kids tonight, when all I asked was, Is Lore okay?
It’s not like her to do something like this. Not without a reason.
Not that I’m some expert on her anymore.
It’s been a year since we separated, but some days it feels like it’s only been a week.
Maybe because for the first six months, I was the weekend dad.
Not by choice, just by consequence. Consequence of drinking, of lying, of being every version of a man she shouldn’t have had to deal with.
I tried to stay sober. God knows I tried. But there was always a reason to drink, a bad case, losing a victim, Harvey whining over Lauren, missing my daughter’s birth. The list is endless.
It wasn’t until Lore threatened to take full custody and move out of Austin that I finally got my shit together.
I put her through hell. No wonder she wants a divorce.
I glance at Milo to make sure he’s still distracted; he’s got every pillow in the house piled into a “cave” then adjust Agnes on my knee. She’s drooling happily on my shirt.
I make another call.
“Blake, hey.”
My sponsor answers with a. “What’s up, man?”
“Look, I’m not gonna make the meeting tonight. My wife” I clear my throat. “My ex. She asked me to keep the kids an extra night.”
There’s a beat of silence, then he says, “Don’t take this the wrong way but… really?”
I roll my eyes. I haven’t lied to him once.
I pull the phone away and yell, “Hey Milo! You want PB&J for dinner?”
“Nooo!” he screeches. “That’s for school!”
“Okay, bud,” I call back.
I bring the phone to my ear again. “I can send you a picture of my daughter’s dirty diaper if you need proof.”
He bursts out laughing. “It’s fine. I believe you. But hey, come tomorrow, alright?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter before hanging up. I’d like to feel offended, but honestly? Yeah. I can’t.
I clap my hands together. “Okay, kid. What do you want for dinner?”
Milo pops his head out of his pillow cave. “Pizza!”
I rub my jaw. I think I’ve got some pizza bases in the freezer… chop some veggies… maybe some meat. I nod. “Alright. Pizza it is.”
He fist-pumps them scrambles out of his cave.
I glance down at the baby in my arms. “And you, little lady, can have some veggies with your milk. No pizza yet.”
Agnes blows a bubble at me. I’ll assume that’s agreement.
I get her set up in her high chair and start chopping. She watches me like I’m performing high art. By the time the pizzas are assembled and, in the oven, she’s kicking her feet at every sound the timer makes.
Once dinner’s ready, we sit on the floor, paper plates, two slices each, Agnes happily chewing on bits of topping I tear small enough not to choke on. Milo demolishes his slices like he hasn’t eaten in years.
When they’re both settled, Milo given strict instructions not to sit too close to the TV. I scoop up Agnes and take her to the bedroom. New diaper, warm bottle, her tiny body softening into mine as she drinks.
As her eyes flutter closed, I can’t look away.
The trust there, pure, uncomplicated, hits me straight in the feelings. How fathers give this up for girlfriends or work, I’ll never understand. You’d have to pry these kids out of my cold dead hands.
The next morning, I’m back in motion, school drop-off for Milo, then Agnes in her carrier as I pull into Lore’s driveway.
I’ve called her three times. Texted her several more.
Nothing.
I stop the engine and stare at the house.
Something feels wrong.
Carrying Agnes’s carrier, I hurry up the walkway and knock. Waiting a few seconds. I knock again then press the doorbell twice.
Still nothing.
A cold pit opens in my stomach.
I dig out my keys with shaking fingers, unlock the door, and push it open. “Lore?” My voice echoes through the quiet house.
No answer.
I set Agnes by the door and take the stairs two at a time. I check the bedroom, the bathroom, the kids’ rooms.
My heartbeat is pounding inside my throat now.
I jog back downstairs, dialing her again. Straight to voicemail.
Panic starts crawling up my ribs. I pull up my mom’s number and I’m just about to press call when something beside the sofa catches my eye.
A shoe connected to a leg, Lore. Oh God.
Gripping the phone, I lunge forward.
“Lore!” The word tears out of me as I fall to my knees. Rolling her limp body onto her back I touch her ice-cold face, it’s pale, almost gray, and her eyes stay closed.
“Lorelie, come on, baby, wake up.”
Nothing.
My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop my phone while dialing 911. I lean down and press my ear to her chest, desperate for any sign of strength.
Her pulse is there. Barely.
Agnes is crying now, the sound sharp and frantic, and I think I might be crying too. I cannot tell. None of it matters.
The dispatcher keeps talking while I keep saying Lore’s name over and over, as if the force of my voice can pull her back.
Twelve minutes. It takes twelve minutes for the paramedics to arrive. It is not long at all but it feels endless.
They rush in and I scramble out of their way.
Everything becomes motion. Gloves. Equipment. Quick commands. I grab Agnes from her carrier and hold her as she screams against my chest.
“Pulse is thready. Oxygen low. Start a line. Prep for transport.”
“Any medical history?” one of them asks me. “Allergies? Conditions?”
“She has none,” I say. “She is healthy. She was fine yesterday.”
They place an oxygen mask on her face, secure her to the stretcher, and wheel her toward the door.
“We’re taking her to Central,” one tells me.
“She works there. I’m coming with you,” I say.
He looks at Agnes in my arms. “You should follow us in your car.”
I nod because he’s right. They need to focus on helping Lore, not her crying baby.
The ambulance pulls away with lights and sirens filling the whole street.
I strap Agnes back into her carrier, my hands trembling so badly that I miss the buckle twice before it finally clicks into place.
She is still sobbing, her little hands curled into fists, her face red.
I feel like a failure as a father for not being able to calm her, not being able to keep anything together right now.
Thankfully she falls back into a tired sleep two minutes into the drive. I call Dad while I’m on the road, my voice breaking, the words stumbling over each other, and he tells me to keep my eyes forward and get there safely. He says he and Mom will meet us at the hospital.
So, I drive.
And I pray.