Chapter 6
I stood outside the bedroom door, my hand hovering over the doorknob. I wasn’t sure if I could face Colson again, not after everything he had told me, not with the weight of my own secret crushing down on me. But I knew I had to. There was no escaping this. No running away from what was coming.
I turned the knob and pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges breaking the heavy silence.
The room was dim, the only light coming from a small lamp on the nightstand, casting long shadows across the bed.
Colson was fast asleep, his breathing shallow but steady, his chest rising and falling under the thin blanket.
I moved quietly, slipping out of my clothes and into my nightgown, the fabric cold against my skin.
My body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and despair, but I forced myself to crawl into bed beside him.
The mattress dipped slightly under my weight, but Colson didn’t stir.
I reached out, laying my hand on his chest, feeling the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath my palm.
It was a faint comfort, a reminder that he was still here with me, even if only for a little while longer.
I closed my eyes, but sleep didn’t come.
Instead, the tears did, sliding down my cheeks in silent streams, soaking into the pillow beneath my head.
I didn’t bother to wipe them away. There was no point.
The pain was too deep, too overwhelming to hold back.
I had never felt so alone, even with Colson lying beside me.
In two days, I would end my pregnancy. It was a decision I had made in the cold, clinical light of the doctor’s office, when the reality of our situation had been laid out before me with brutal clarity.
The baby had a fatal condition, one that would cause suffering for both the child and me if I continued with the pregnancy.
I had no choice but to protect Colson from that truth. He was already dying, his body failing him more with each passing day. How could I burden him with the knowledge that the life we had created together would be cut short before it even began?
I bit down on my lip, stifling the sobs that threatened to escape. I couldn’t let Colson see me like this, couldn’t let him know how much I was hurting. I had to be strong for him, even if it meant carrying this secret to my grave.
His breathing hitched slightly, and I froze, my hand still resting on his chest. For a moment, I thought he might wake up, that he might see the truth in my eyes and ask the questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
But then his breath evened out again, and he remained asleep, blissfully unaware of the storm raging inside me.
I turned my head slightly, pressing my lips to his shoulder in a gentle kiss, hoping to convey the love I couldn’t put into words. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, swallowed by the darkness of the room. “I’m so sorry, Colson.”
But he didn’t hear me. And maybe that was for the best. Because in the end, I couldn’t bear to let him know just how much more we were about to lose.
I pulled my hand away from his chest, curling up beside him, the tears still falling, each one a silent cry for the life we would never have, the future that was slipping away from us both.
And as the night stretched on, I lay there, waiting for sleep to take me, knowing that in two days, I would make the most heartbreaking decision of my life and never breathe a word of it to the man I loved.
I walked through the front door, the weight of the world pressing down on me. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made my skin crawl. I’d hoped that maybe, just maybe, coming home would bring some sense of comfort, but all I felt was emptiness.
My steps were slow, each one dragging me further into the void that had opened up inside me.
I made my way to the living room, but the familiar surroundings only made the ache in my chest worse.
I couldn’t stop thinking about what I had done—about what was gone.
Colson's legacy, the child we had created together, was gone.
And I was the one who had to make that choice.
The pain was unbearable. It was a deep, raw ache that throbbed through every part of me. My body was sore, a physical reminder of the procedure I had endured, but the mental anguish was far worse. I felt like I was unraveling, every thread of my being slowly coming apart at the seams.
I sank onto the couch, pulling a blanket around me as if it could somehow shield me from the overwhelming guilt that gnawed at my insides.
It wasn’t my fault—everyone had told me that.
The doctors, the nurses, even Colson, though he didn’t know the full extent of what had happened.
They had all said the same thing: It wasn’t your fault.
But that didn’t stop the guilt from settling in, from sinking its claws into me and refusing to let go.
I curled up into a ball, clutching my stomach, the place where our child had once been.
A sob burst from my throat, harsh and ugly, and I buried my face in the blanket, trying to muffle the sound.
But the tears kept coming, hot and relentless, until I was gasping for air between sobs.
It seemed that all I did lately was cry.
The physical pain from the procedure was still fresh, a dull, throbbing ache that radiated through my lower abdomen.
I felt drained, like all the life had been sucked out of me, leaving only this hollow shell behind.
I couldn’t escape the thought that I had failed—not just Colson, but myself, our family, and the life we were supposed to bring into this world.
I tried to focus on my breathing, the way the doctor had told me to, but it only made me more aware of the emptiness inside me. I was supposed to be healing, both physically and emotionally, but all I felt was broken. Shattered.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table, but I didn’t have the energy to reach for it. I couldn’t talk to anyone, couldn’t bear the thought of pretending that everything was okay when it was anything but. I was drowning in my own misery, and I didn’t want to be pulled out of it—not yet.
The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in on me as I tried to catch my breath.
I stood up, my legs shaky, and made my way to the kitchen, hoping that maybe a glass of water would help.
But when I opened the cupboard, I found myself staring blankly at the shelves, unable to even muster the will to grab a glass.
My hands trembled as I slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the empty house.
I leaned against the counter, my head spinning as nausea washed over me. It wasn’t just physical—though that was bad enough—it was the guilt, the unbearable weight of what I had done. I felt like I was being crushed from the inside out, like I would never be able to breathe freely again.
I stumbled back to the living room, collapsing onto the couch once more.
I wrapped the blanket tighter around me, trying to ward off the chill that had settled into my bones.
My body felt cold, despite the warmth of the room, as if the life that had once been inside me had taken all the heat with it.
My mind kept drifting back to Colson. Unaware that the child we had dreamed of was gone, that our future had been erased with a single decision. I knew I had done what was necessary, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear.
I closed my eyes, but the tears still seeped through, dampening the blanket beneath my cheek. I couldn’t stop thinking about the life that would never be, the future that had been stolen from us both. The guilt was suffocating, an iron grip around my throat that refused to let me go.
I had to tell him eventually. But how could I? How could I look him in the eye and tell him that his legacy, the child we had created together, was gone? The words stuck in my throat, choked by the overwhelming sorrow that threatened to consume me.
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there, lost in the storm of my own grief.
Time seemed to stretch on, each minute an eternity of pain and regret.
All I wanted was to escape, to forget everything that had happened today, but I knew that was impossible.
The memory of it would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Eventually, exhaustion took over, and I drifted into a fitful sleep, my dreams filled with images of what could have been. But even in sleep, I couldn’t escape the guilt, the unbearable sense of loss that had settled deep in my soul.
When I woke hours later, the room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the streetlamp outside. The house was still silent, Colson asleep upstairs, blissfully unaware of the truth that was tearing me apart.
I sat up, my head pounding, and tried to gather the strength to move. But the weight of what I had done was too much to bear, and I found myself sinking back onto the couch, my body heavy with exhaustion.
I pulled the blanket tighter around me, as if it could somehow shield me from the reality of what had happened. But no amount of warmth could ease the cold that had settled into my bones, the deep, aching emptiness that now filled the space where our child had once been.
The tears came again, unbidden and unstoppable, and I let them fall, soaking into the blanket as I cried for everything we had lost. For the child that would never be born, for the future that had been stolen from us, and for the guilt that I knew would haunt me for the rest of my life.
I woke to the sound of my name being whispered, and when I opened my eyes, the light stung as it poured into the room. Easton was sitting on the edge of the couch, his face lined with concern.
"Joey?" he repeated softly.
I blinked, disoriented. "Oh God, I fell asleep. What time is it?"
"Close to midnight," he replied, his voice low. "Dad woke up and was wondering where you were."
I sat up, rubbing my eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "Is he still awake?"
Easton shook his head. "No. He doesn't stay awake for long anymore."
I nodded, biting my lip as I reached out, gripping his arm for support. "It won't be long," I whispered, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
He sighed deeply, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of years of unresolved feelings. "You know, there was a time I really hated him. It was after Mom died."
"I know," I said, my voice barely audible. "I remember."
His gaze drifted, lost in the memories we shared. "But now... I don't want to lose him. I'd rather hate him alive than mourn him dead."
His words cut through me, a sharp reminder of the fragile line between love and hate, especially with someone like Colson. I swallowed hard, searching his eyes.
"Do you still hate him?"
Easton’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, there was a flash of something unreadable. "Do you?"
I narrowed my eyes, suspicion flaring up. "Did you talk to Vaughn?"
He hesitated, wetting his lips as if the words were too heavy. "He said my father told you everything."
Not everything.
"He did," I replied, my voice betraying none of the turmoil churning inside me.
Easton must have sensed the shift, because he quickly changed the subject. "Did you eat?"
The mere thought of food sent a wave of nausea crashing through me, gnawing at my insides. "I don't eat much these days."
"You've lost weight since my father got sick," he noted, his tone laced with worry.
"I know," I admitted, feeling the hollowness in my bones. "And I suspect it'll be more after I lose Colson."
To my surprise, Easton leaned in, pulling me into a tight hug. His sudden warmth made my breath catch, and when he pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek, I felt tears sting my eyes.
"Promise me you won’t leave," he said, his voice rough with emotion.
"Leave?" I echoed, confused.
"You have no reason to be here after my father dies. You can do anything you want. I don’t want you to go."
His words sank deep, and I could see the fear in his eyes—fear of being left alone, of losing not just his father, but me too.
"I promise," I said, my voice wavering. "I’ll stay here for a little while."
But as I spoke, doubts crowded my mind. Staying here, in this house filled with memories and ghosts, was suffocating. And then there was Vaughn. I knew he was waiting, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to end his engagement and pursue me.
Once Colson was gone, I doubted Vaughn would give me much time to grieve before he made his intentions clear. Would he be respectful, or would his desperation to satisfy his own needs override everything else?
I shuddered, pulling away from Easton, the weight of everything pressing down on me again.
"I'll stay," I repeated, more to convince myself than him.
But in the back of my mind, I couldn't shake the feeling that Vaughn was just biding his time, and when the moment came, I would be forced to make choices I wasn’t ready to face.