There is no straight and narrow path to the truth.
It takes you on back roads and shortcuts that are bumpy and unsafe. Sometimes you end up at a dead end and have to turn around and start over. Sometimes you become so lost, you begin to feel helpless. The idea of finding the truth seems like a long-lost dream.
But you will.
You always will.
“Are you ready?”
I glance at Dr. Calloway. “I am,” I reply confidently.
We’re walking down the hallway, toward the library. Sunlight filters in. It’s impossible to contain my excitement. It feels like I’ve been waiting years for this moment.
After the truth came out, I came back to Fairfax; I was so far from being mentally stable. It was chaos at first. Uncovering Nathan’s deception led to another trail of evil. Alice was arrested and charged for being an accessory to murder.
And Melanie, the girl from the photos? She was discovered moments after the police arrived that fateful night. She was one of the lucky ones and made it out alive.
There are many labels that the press will use for Nathan and he fits every single one. But to me he will always be the devil reincarnate. Logically, I know that he’ll never hurt another soul again, but I still deal with paranoia daily, that he’s watching me and will attack when I least expect it.
Very slowly, I picked through the pain, trying to rebuild my life. What’s the most unbearable pain is the time I lost with my child, and the fact that I never believed Wes when he was innocent the entire time. Sometimes my guilt chokes me. Sometimes it doesn’t.
I simply have to take everything day by day.
When we stop at the library doors, I exhale a shaky breath.
“Everything will be okay,” she replies softly.
“I know.”
“You should go in,” Dr. Calloway urges. “Everyone will be here soon.”
I nod and open the door and step inside. The library is deathly quiet. The door shuts softly behind me. I drum my fingers against my thighs as I pace the room. What if this goes badly? What if I’m really not ready? I’ve made a lot of progress, but is it enough?
Or will I just crumble?
I continue to pace when someone knocks softly on the door. I stop short and jerk my head toward the door, my hands laced in front of me. Sinclair peeks his head into the room. His eyes instantly find mine. “Knock, knock.”
I swallow loudly. “Hi.”
“You ready?”
It’s the second time that question has been directed my way, but this time it’s I who smile widely. “Absolutely.”
Seconds later, the door opens. Sinclair steps through with our child in his arms.
Peter Montgomery.
He’s beautiful. So beautiful. During a few of my sessions, Sinclair has been present, showing me pictures. But those pictures don’t do our little boy justice. They don’t capture his bright green eyes. Sinclair’s eyes.
The tears are impossible to push down. With the back of my hand I wipe them away but after a few minutes I give up. The tears won’t stop. But it’s good. These are happy tears.
His hair is a light shade of brown. Closer to my hair color. The tips of his wispy strands curl at the edges. I feel a small seed of pride sprout up in me; almost pride that he has something of me.
I’m so happy, I can’t even think of the time that’s been lost. All I can think is that I am lucky. So incredibly lucky to see him.
Sinclair stands directly in front of me, trying to tilt Peter forward so I can get a better look at him.
“This is your mom,” he says softly.
With his big doe eyes, Peter stares at me blankly.
“Hello,” I whisper. My hand is shaking as I reach out and brush my fingers against his cheeks. Very slowly, a smile graces his face. A small dimple appears in his left cheek. I’m looking at a mini-version of Sinclair.
Nothing and no one can prepare me for this moment. Not so long ago, I was convinced that my heart and mind were broken. Thousands of shards. I thought I was unfixable.
But this boy is the staple that puts me back together. Links me with Sinclair.
“He’s beautiful,” I say.
“He is,” Sinclair agrees, an impossibly wide smile on his face.
Hesitantly, I hold my hands out, desperately hoping that he’ll come into my arms but knowing there’s a good chance he won’t. I was forewarned before this meeting that there was a possibility that Peter wouldn’t let me hold him. And I’m okay with that. I know he needs time.
At first he curls close to Sinclair. Some of my hope deflates. But then he whirls back around, as if he’s double-checking to see if I’m still there.
My hands reach out farther and Sinclair hands him over.
I smile and blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears away.
I wrap my arms around Peter and bury my face into his neck. I’m so happy my heart feels like it’s going to burst from my chest. Holding my son, feeling his steady heart beating like mine, is more than I ever imagined.
I’ve missed out on seven months of his life. I’ve missed a lot of memories, but I remind myself that I have thousands of good memories just waiting for our family.
I look over the top of Peter’s head and meet Sinclair’s gaze, tears brimming in my eyes.
I love him for standing by me for all this time. I love him for taking care of our son when I couldn’t.
I love him for so unapologetically loving every part of me. Flaws and all.
I’m allowed to stay in the library for a few hours. Sinclair and I talk the whole time. Wide, brilliant smiles on our faces. I get to feed Peter. And when he needs his diaper changed, Sinclair happily lets me take that job. I tickle his stomach and cradle him close to my chest, the whole time a smile on my face.
I’m not perfect.
Or even considered “recovered.” But I know I’m close.
I know I’m better.
There will always be flaws in my life, but they will be beautiful.
Sinclair reaches out and holds my hand.
“Heartbeat?” he asks.
With my son in my arms, I say, “Heartbeat.”