Everything hurts. Every last bit of me aches. But I won’t take the pills. I want to feel the pain. My chest hurts the worst. The knot where my heart used to be just won’t go away.

“Mommy!” Jax yells through the hall.

“Jax!” He’s butt naked, and his towel is on his shoulders like a cape. I shake my head and try to hide my smile. This kid. “Baby, I told you to get your PJs on.”

“I want sleepover.” He’s giving me those puppy dog eyes he always gives me. But that’s something I can’t cave on. That’ll never happen again. I’m grateful he isn’t anything but happy about everything. He has no idea. Thank fuck he’s only three.

I squat down and hold back the wince from the slight pain in my ass. “We’ll do another play date with Ava soon, okay?” I gently push the hair out of his face and wrap his towel around him.

He purses his lips and narrows his eyes at me, and I can’t help but crack up laughing. “Bedtime, mister.” I use my mommy voice, and he doesn’t like that.

“Daddy never made me go bed.” He pouts, and I have to hold everything back and try to think about what I read online. I’m coming up short. How to handle divorce. How to handle death. I don’t remember. I can’t think. I don’t know what’s best. My body heats with anxiety, and I have no idea how to respond to him.

“Fine!” He stomps his foot and crosses his arms. As soon as his back is turned, I stand and wipe the bastard tears from my eyes.

Fucking hell, could today get any worse?

Work was a disaster; I wish I’d just stayed away. Who the fuck am I kidding? Work was just like every other day. That’s not what hurt about today.

I force myself to straighten my back and pick out a book to read for his bedtime story. “This one, baby?” I ask.

“I’m not a baby, Mom.” He huffs and lies back on the bed. “I’m three.” He holds up three fingers and speaks with exasperation. I wish I wasn’t so fucking emotional, because that really hurt. I want to scream. I want to cry. But instead I ask, “Okay Jax, this one?”

He smiles and nods his head, and it takes everything in me to sit on his bed and pretend like I’m not falling to pieces. I read him the fairytale with the same peppy voice, although my throat feels hoarse and raw. The only thing keeping me together is hearing his little voice tell me he loves me as he hugs me before I get off the bed. He may not think he’s my baby boy, but he is. I hold him longer than I have in a long time, and he lets me. My heart clenches, and I have to give him a kiss and turn out the lights quickly before he sees what a mess I am.

As soon as I shut the door, I let it all out.

I cry harder than I have for years and I stumble into my room, exhausted and wishing I could change everything.

* * *

Three loud knocks at the door stir me from my sleep. Shit. I’m still fully clothed and lying on my stomach over the made bed. I wipe under my eyes and slowly climb off the bed, feeling exceptionally unsteady.

Bang! Bang! The knocks pound on the door. I practically jog to the door so the banging doesn’t wake up Jax. Who the fuck is banging at this hour? Anger gets the best of me, and I almost swing the door open without looking. It isn’t even locked. I grind my teeth and nearly snap when whoever it is bangs on the other side again. I need to get a grip and be smart. I stand on my tiptoes to see clearly out of the peephole.

It’s a cop. Fuck!

My heart sputters, and my fingertips go numb. I shake them out and open the door before that fucker decides to knock again.

“Rebecca?” he asks with concern apparent in his voice.

“Yes, that’s me.” I want to correct him, but I don’t; technically that’s my name. I just fucking hate not being called Becca.

“I’d like to speak with you if you have a moment.” His eyes search my face and then behind me. I almost look over my shoulder, but stop myself. I know there’s no one there.

I nod my head and say, “Sure.” But I don’t move an inch. We can have this conversation right here, and real fucking quick.

“We had a call this evening that you and your son were kidnapped and held against your will,” he says far more calmly than I would imagine possible.

I huff a humorless laugh. “Well obviously that’s not true. I’m standing right here.” My fingers itch to touch my chin. To make sure the makeup is still covering the bruises.

The officer shifts uncomfortably in front of me. “Where were you yesterday?” My mouth stays shut as I look him in the eyes.

“I was with a friend.”

“Could I have that friend’s name?” He takes out a pad and a pen from his back pocket and I want to smack it away.

“Am I being charged with anything?” I make sure that my voice echoes annoyance. I’m not annoyed. I’m scared shitless. I don’t want him here asking questions.

“Not unless you’re lying. Are you withholding any information?” The officer’s strong jaw juts out, and he looks past my shoulder again.

“No, I’m not. I’d like to go to bed, officer.” My grip on the door tightens as I add, “I’m fine. There’s no reason to waste either of our time. I’m exhausted and just want to go to bed.” That last part is the truth at least.

“May I come in to take-” I don’t let him finish.

“I’d rather you didn’t. My son’s asleep.” There’s no fucking way I want him in here.

“I completely understand, Mrs. Harrison.” Hearing that name makes anger course through me.

“Bartley now.”

“I’m sorry?” he asks.

“Rebecca Bartley. Harrison was my married name.”

“Oh. My apologies. Have a good night now.” He seems sincere, but that doesn’t damper my anger. Or my sadness.

I give him a tight smile. “You, too.” I’m surprised the overwhelming emotion I’m feeling is anger. It's followed closely by a deep aching hurt in my gut.

I close the door, turning both locks and lean my back against it. My eyes fall shut, and I try to breathe.

I can’t do this shit on my own.

I wish Dom were here. I wish he could hold me. I wrap my arms around my shoulders and walk slowly to bed, feeling lost and unsure and very much alone.