Triggered
Ashton
She’s hysterical. I hold her tight, forgetting anything but her as I carry her back to the house and away from everyone.
Jordy’s breath comes out in gasps as she cries uncontrollably, her hands clutching my shirt as if she needs an anchor to keep from floating away.
I reach the porch and set her down on the bench, her legs draped over mine as she clings to me.
“Breathe, baby,” I murmur, and she tries to pull in a shaky breath. Her eyes are wild, frantically looking around without focusing on any one thing. I realize she’s having a panic attack, the way she doesn’t seem rooted in reality. “You’re safe,” I whisper. “Take a breath.”
She tries again, this time quieting as her forehead presses against mine, her body still shaking as she struggles to breathe. I take her hands in mine, and she squeezes them hard.
“You’re here with me,” I whisper. I keep telling her she’s safe, that I’m not leaving her. I remind her to breathe.
Eventually she stills.
“Breathe in,” I coax, then take a deep breath at the same time she does. We hold at the top, her eyes finding mine. They appear larger than life, brimming in tears, her face streaked with dirt. She looks so fragile, so unlike the Jordy I’ve gotten to know these past few weeks.
We release our breath together.
I coach her through another few breaths until her grasp on my hands loosens and her body relaxes. She falls into me, resting her head on my chest as I softly stroke her braided hair.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it as I continue to hold her. We stay that way for a little while, until she finally sits up, pushing against my chest gently until she’s sitting beside me. I see her mask shift into place, and I shake my head.
“Don’t stuff this,” I warn her. “It’s okay to be vulnerable.” She inhales with hitched breath, looking away quickly, but not before I see her eyes fill with tears again.
“I have no idea where that came from,” she says, offering a shaky laugh.
Liar.
It could have been the shock of seeing a cow give birth. Maybe it’s exhaustion from watching my kid. All I know is that her reaction came from somewhere deep.
And she’s not talking.
A part of me says to leave it alone. It’s not my business, whatever happened out there. But that’s what I did with Sasha. She didn’t talk, I didn’t press—look where it left us.
“I think you do,” I say softly. She doesn’t look at me as she stands, wiping at her face. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She nods, then stops. Then shakes her head.
“Can I go take a shower?” she asks, still not looking at me.
I’m at a loss. She’s pushing me away, trying to lock up anything she hasn’t released yet. I feel desperate to keep her here, to make her feel whatever she’s repressing.
“You don’t have to…” I start, but then stop myself.
She needs space. I can see it in every cell of her body.
As much as I want to barrel my way in, to make her talk so I can fix it for her, I realize I can’t.
Even with Sasha in mind, how we just brushed everything under the damn carpet, I know I can’t push Jordy.
So I stand and open the door for her, then follow her inside. She disappears into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
My chest tightens, feeling like I’m losing her even though she’s just behind that door. I have no idea what to do, what to say.
It’s like Sasha all over again.
My phone vibrates again, and this time I pull it out and look at the screen.
Bec.
Fuck. My kid.
“I’m sorry,” I say as my greeting. “I can’t believe I abandoned Lottie. I’ll come get…”
“Lottie is fine,” Bec says. “She’s with Bob, completely fascinated by that calf. It’s Jordy I’m worried about. How is she?”
“Okay, I think.” I look toward the bathroom door, hearing the quiet rush of water on the other side.
I breathed out heavily. “She had a panic attack. I helped her breathe through it, now she’s in the shower.
” I sit on the couch, collapsing against the back of it.
“I don’t know what to do. She won’t talk about it, and I don’t even know what happened.
I feel like the biggest idiot. She’s probably never seen a cow give birth before, and I just gave her a front row seat to the horror show.
I can’t believe I didn’t check with her first.”
“I don’t know,” Bec says slowly. “I know we’ve just met Jordy, but she’s a strong woman. I can’t see something like the birth of a cow sending her into a panic like that.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Tell me what you remember happening.”
I do, though my focus had been on Petunia and her calf, plus Lottie in my arms. Not Jordy. I detail how Petunia had been pacing until she finally laid down, and how the calf came out quickly after that.
“It didn’t move at first,” I say. “For a moment, I thought we lost the calf. But it was only like that for a few seconds tops before it started kicking its legs.”
Bec makes a sympathetic noise in her throat. “And Jordy has never seen an animal birth?” she asks.
“I mean, anything is possible. But it’s not like there are a lot of opportunities in New York.”
“Okay, maybe it’s not about animals. Maybe something else? Could the calf appearing stillborn have affected her?”
The word hits me like a sledgehammer. Stillborn.
“I’m such a fucking idiot.” I look at the door again, the water still running. “I need to go. Can you watch Lottie for me for a while?”
“Honey, you know you don’t have to ask. We treasure our time with Lottie, and I haven’t seen her in a few days.”
“So you’d keep her overnight?”
That was already the plan, but the reason changed. I know Jordy needs the quiet, and anything could be a trigger—even my daughter. The least I can do is provide her space to recover.
“It would be our pleasure. Now, go tend to our girl.”
Our girl. I love the way it sounds, like Bec already knows something is brewing, and she’s accepting Jordy like a daughter.
Even though she isn’t Sasha.
I head to my bedroom, noting Jordy’s still-packed suitcases sitting in the corner.
The room is spotless, not a sign of her except for those suitcases.
I furrow my brow at the sign of her attempted getaway.
Thank god I’d stopped her. We only have two weeks left, but it’s still time. I’ll take what I can get.
I unzip the suitcase and choose some new clothes, finding the comfier ones buried below the rolled-up silk blouses and linen dress pants. Even in her haste, I marvel at the way she packs things so that nothing is wrinkled. It goes to show how careful Jordy is at keeping everything neat and tidy.
Just like her life.
She told me about the loss of her baby in the first few days of knowing her. It had slipped out in a brief, emotional moment before she tucked it away again. So brief, barely a mention for something that had obviously affected her.
And like a dumbass, I hadn’t thought of it since.
When I was young, my mom had a miscarriage. The pregnancy had been unexpected, and my dad blamed my mom for not taking her birth control, even though the fucker could have used a condom.
“It’s not like we can afford the kids we have,” he’d screamed at her. “How are you going to support another mouth to feed?”
My mom had been the only one working at the time, cleaning houses while he lay on the couch drinking.
I think we all knew we were screwed if she had to take time off to have a baby.
So when she lost it, none of us mourned.
Thinking back, I’m not sure how my mom actually felt after losing the baby.
We never talked about it, and it was like the baby never happened.
But it did, and it was likely that my mom felt a whole lot for that baby, even as inconvenient as it was. She loved her kids with all her heart, another baby would have been no different.
I gather Jordy’s clothes plus a fresh towel, then I knock on the bathroom door.
“I’m almost done,” she calls. I can tell she’s masking, pretending everything’s okay. I crack the door open.
“No rush,” I say. “I brought you some fresh clothes and a towel. I’ll just place them on the counter. Take your time.”
“Thanks.” Her voice cracks slightly. I ease the door closed again.
Needing to distract myself, I water the plants around the side of the house and organize the tools in the shed.
I know if I wait inside, I’ll just hover.
And as much as I hate it, I know Jordy needs time to process alone.
But when I can’t stand it any longer, I head back in the house to find her sitting on the couch.
She’s scrolling her phone, but puts it down as soon as I approach, scooting over to make room for me.
The screen is face up, showing off an Instagram page full of baby photos.
I look at Jordy, who shift her eyes from me to the phone, then back at me again.
She quickly turns the phone off, then places it face down.
“It’s my cousin, Nina,” she explains. “Her whole page is dedicated to her daughter, Juniper.” She gives a light laugh. “I’ve never even seen her in real life. It’s mainly through Facetime, when Nina springs it on me, and on Instagram, when I scroll through the photos as a form of punishment.”
I note the emphasis she places on that word. Punishment . As if she needs atonement for something that wasn’t her fault.
“How so?”
She looks at me then, her eyes welling with tears. Then she laughs, looking up at the ceiling. “God, I’m a fucking mess.”
I take her hand away from her face, wiping her tears with my sleeve. She presses her face against my hand, shuddering slightly as she leans into me.
“You know who Juniper’s father is?” she asks. I nod.
“Your ex-fiancé, right?”
She looks at her hands, nodding. “It’s not like this is new or anything. I mean, June’s nine months old now.”
“And seeing her is like seeing the baby you couldn’t have, right?”
I say it cautiously. Gently. And when her face crumples, I pull her to me.
“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”