After two months of Tyler visiting me for both January and February, I’m not surprised that the subject of visiting home is something that both Grace and Ty want to discuss at his February visit.

“Emma, you are getting stronger every day you are here. It is time you use the coping strategies I have equipped you with to go home and face some of those fears.” What she means is face the little almost ten-month-old who is the spitting image of me, and it frightens me more than the boogeyman did when I was younger.

“The thought of getting on the plane leads me to a panic attack.”

“Then I’ll fly down here and get you, Ems. We can do it together.” Ty is holding on to this dream that I will come back to him.

“No, no. I can’t do it.” I can’t explain why I stood immediately and fled; some of it has to do with the pressure I felt from them both. Grace told me she would push me at times, and this is certainly one of them. However, I can’t articulate how much this little baby I created scares me. If I tried any further to put it into words, I would sound like a monster. Fuck, I’m a monster.

Returning to my room, I lock my door behind me because I can’t look into my husband’s eyes after I’ve failed him again. When the door handle jiggles a little, I’m sure I’m going to hear Tyler’s voice behind the piece of wood separating us, but it isn’t his. “Emma, why the hell is the door locked?” Jolie asks annoyed.

“Are you by yourself?” I ask from behind the door, ready to let her in quickly.

“Yes, but are we in fucking middle school here? Let me in.” Since Jolie and I have been living together, she has started swearing a lot more. I snicker, thinking to myself, I’m a good influence, after all.

When I open the door, I pull her in, and she’s annoyed and looks tired, very tired. “What the fuck, Emma?”

“Sorry. I just bolted from Grace and my husband, and I don’t want to see him.”

When she walks in, I notice she’s a little slower moving than she normally is, even for being eight months pregnant. “You mean, you ran from your fucking hunk of a husband?”

“He wants me to come home for a week, and I just can’t.”

Jolie attempts to sit down and winces but continues, “Your hunky gorgeous as fuck husband wants you to come home for a week, and you ran from him? Am I missing something?”

“Nope, that’s pretty much it,” I say, a little annoyed. “I can’t get past this fear that I’m going to screw the baby up somehow.”

She attempts to stand, and after a little effort, she stops and doesn’t try again. “I want to stand right now and tell you off, but I can’t, so I’ll just do it from the comfort of my bed. I have no idea what it is like to have a baby. I mean, I soon will, and childbirth scares me, but I’m going to do it because this baby deserves it. But I do know something about trauma. I was raped. I’m going to raise a baby that was not conceived in love but in hate, but I choose to love her because that is what moms do. So you have had a hard time, I feel for you, but get your head out of your ass and go find your hunkier than fuck husband, the one I would fuck if I could and if he wasn’t already in love with you, and tell him you will try.”

Now, I’m mad. “You had some jacked-up shit happen, yes, but don’t belittle my trauma by your circumstances.”

“Perspective,” she starts, and then she screams when I notice her pants are entirely wet.

Now, trying to approach another subject with her since it is obvious her water has broken, I only laugh. “It looks like you are going to be a mother very soon.”

* * *

When we arrive at the hospital, Jolie is in so much pain I worry something is wrong. She’s crying. “I’m sorry, Emma. I had no right to say those words. Please, please, forgive me.”

Part of her is right, and I haven’t had a chance to dissect what to do with some of the truths that a seventeen-year-old threw in my face. “No, it is fine, honey. Part of what you said was right, but for now, let’s worry about your baby girl and you. Okay? This is all about you and your girl.”

When the nurse comes to get her, she asks, “Are you her birthing coach?”

By the pleading look on Jolie’s face, I answer, “Yes, I am.”

“Okay, you all can come back.” I look back at Grace who is still upset over letting Tyler leave without as much as a goodbye, and I follow Jolie to help her through the birth of her first child.

* * *

Watching Jolie effortlessly nurse her baby, I’m in awe. Walking over to her, after she birthed the baby without pain relief, I know she’s going to make a wonderful mother.

“She’s perfect, Jolie. Absolutely perfect,” I say.

“Reagan, her name is Reagan Christine,” she says.

“Aww, you used one of my names.”

“The second you said Reagan, I knew that would be her name.”

Sitting on the bed next to her, I say, “Listen, you were right about many things you said to me.”

Searching my eyes, she tears up. “I can’t compare your scars to mine. That is not fair.”

“But you said some simple truths. I haven’t had a chance to call Ty yet, but I’m going to make plans for March.”

Holding my hand, she only says, “I have been a mom all of an hour, but, Emma, I want this for you. I really do.”

I do, too, I think to myself. I do, too.