Chapter 37

THIRTY-SEVEN

My back hits the bedroom door as I close it and finally let the tears fall freely. A sob works its way up my throat, but I cover my mouth to hold it in. My heart—or what’s left of it—hurts beyond reason. It’s a pain I’ve felt once before, but as time dulled the memory, I forgot how truly painful it was. How I felt like my body was being ripped apart from the inside out by some invisible force that wanted to inflict maximum pain.

He’s here for the baby.

That’s good. That should be enough. She’ll always have him; I know that beyond a shadow of a doubt. But a small part of me hoped when he arrived at my school that maybe he was there for me.

I’ve never felt more like a vessel for the truly precious cargo I carry as I did when he put his hand on my belly and lit up at our daughter’s kick and then had the nerve to remind me to take care of myself for her.

I would never risk our daughter. It’s why I made sure to force down a banana and my prenatal vitamins this morning even though I had zero appetite. It’s why I tried meditation videos last night to bring down my stress because I know it’s not good for Peanut.

I know how to put my daughter first. He doesn’t need to remind me she’s important. She’s my whole fucking world now.

She’s the only solid thing I have left.

A small part of my brain, which has been questioning everything on a loop, wonders if I’m too emotional to look at this situation objectively. Maybe he was just showing general concern.

But he wasn’t. He was making sure I understood if I wasn’t taking care of myself, I could be hurting our daughter.

Another sharp pang tugs at my heart, and a small sob rips free. I rush to the bathroom and lock the door. My face stares back at me in the mirror, my cheeks blotchy from my tears, my eyes red and dull, my mouth dry, and my nose a runny mess.

But none of that hits me quite as much as the despair in my gaze. Those dull eyes are lifeless; they’re broken. All my pain, all my fears, all my doubts—a lifetime’s worth—are reflected back at me.

Unlovable.

No one wants you.

No one will ever want you.

Ty was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be the one who would love me. He made me believe those whispers in my head were lies. That I was lovable. That I was wanted. By him.

But it’s not me he wants, is it? Was it ever? Or has it always been about our daughter? By keeping me close, he wouldn’t have to fight for access to her.

He grew up in a two-parent home, so naturally he would want that for his child.

I close my eyes, unable to look at myself for a single second longer. I was so stupid.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, I let myself feel it all, knowing when I exit this bathroom, I need to have my armor fully in place. I won’t leave again. Ty’s right; it’s not safe for me outside this house. But more than that, I will give our daughter what I never had.

A family.

I can accept that Ty doesn’t love me, that none of his actions have been about me. I can remind myself that I have survived all my worst hurts, and Ty will make an incredible father. Now that I know the truth, I can protect myself. I can accept—something I should’ve done years ago—that this is my life.That I may be unlovable, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give all my love to my child. She’ll never feel the way I feel right now. She’ll never know this kind of agony.

Turning the water on, I splash my face, pulling myself back together. It’s harder to put my metaphorical armor back in place than I remember. My heart aches at all the ways Ty chipped away at my walls over the last several months—all the ways he made me feel safe when I should’ve listened to my gut that none of it was real.

I firm up my resolve, and like a lock clicking shut, the final piece of armor slips into place and a numbness coats my bones. The only warmth in my body comes from my stomach, where my daughter grows.

This time when I meet my reflection, all I see is acceptance, resolve, and strength. It’s not the peaceful kind of strength I felt before—it’s the strength that’s born from necessity. My eyes are dry, my face less red and splotchy. My mouth is still turned down at the corners, but I don’t have the energy to fake a smile.

I can do hard things. I will survive this like I have survived every day before this. Like I will survive tomorrow, and the day after. I have me and her, and that’s enough.

Once I’m sure I won’t crack, that my armor is secure, I exit the bathroom. Ty’s sitting on the side of the bed, his head down, but at the sound of the door opening, his gaze finds mine as his body becomes alert. His hands rest between his legs as he sits there, clearly waiting for me, and he’s so handsome, even with his brow furrowed in concern and those bags under his eyes. It’s not fair. Hasn’t life punished me enough? Now I have to raise a daughter with the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, knowing he can never love me.

My confidence wavers ever so slightly, but I take a breath and hold firm. Ty stands up and pulls back the covers. I crawl in, and when he rounds the bed and gets in on the other side, I turn away from him. I’m strong, but not strong enough to look him in the eyes without him seeing how completely broken I am.

His arm wraps around my waist, hauling me back into his body, and a traitorous tear escapes.

“Lexi,” he breathes against my neck.

Exhaustion overwhelms me hard, the softness of the pillow, the warmth of the comforter, the strength and comfort of his arms all working to lull me into the sleep I didn’t get last night, but I have to get this out first. He deserves to know that I understand.

“It’s okay, Ty. I won’t ever push you out of the baby’s life,” I mumble, my eyelids growing heavy. “I’m glad she’ll always have you.”

“So will you,” he says, and I swear I can feel his heart racing through my back, but it could be my imagination as sleep pulls me further down.

“Because of the baby.”