34. I Regret Nothing

34

I Regret Nothing

I didn’t remember leaving him, but somehow I must have turned my back, walked across the yard, gotten into my car, and drove away.

Because now I was standing with my damn key stuck in my front door. Trapped on my tiny front porch, hoping Mrs. Mason and Mrs. Wemberly had tucked themselves into bed rather than watching the neighborhood as they were wont to do.

Should either of them venture out, there would be no hiding my swollen eyes or red nose.

With a desperate cry, I yanked the key back and forth until it caught and released the lock. Slamming the door behind me, I stood with my hands over my face and breathed through a loss so profound it stole chunks of my soul.

This was a baby I’d held.

Whose eyes had smiled into mine.

Who had called me mommy.

That old and familiar grief compelled me toward my laptop. Flipping the top up, I opened the app and typed in the name I hadn’t searched in years. Within seconds, they appeared smiling and laughing on my screen.

They looked beautiful, so much bigger and older.

With a sob, I touched my forefinger to their little faces.

They should have been mine. Maybe they could have been mine if I hadn’t given up.

I scrolled through one post after another, torturing myself with what might have been.

And then my blood ran cold.

Because not once had I looked at Gary.

And I wouldn’t recognize his wife if I passed her on the street.

I was only interested in the children.

In the end, was I any better than Gary? Because I’d just walked away from Gabe because he couldn’t give me the child I so desperately wanted.

Oh, God! How could I have left him standing there like that?

I had to call, apologize, beg him to forgive me and fix things. My eyes flew to the ceiling, as if my vision could penetrate wood and beams and drywall to find the box under my bed.

I was on my feet even as I clicked out of the app and closed my laptop.

It called to me in a way it hadn’t in years, but before I could get to it, the doorbell rang.

Gabe?

Had he followed me home? Relief rushed through me. He came, God, he came!

Hope and fear battled for dominance.

What would he say?

And would I be ready to hear it?

Tentatively, I walked down the hall, but the silhouette framed in the window under the porch light was tiny. I peered through the glass then threw the door open.

“Mrs. Wemberly?”

“Can’t you see it’s me, child? Are your eyes failing you now as well as your good sense?” Huffing out an agitated breath, she elbowed her way past me into the house.

“No, please, come right in,” I murmured.

“I heard that,” she snapped, not looking back as she shuffled into the kitchen. Her voice softened. “Put on the tea, lamb. I may not be long for this world, but I’ll be damned if I don’t go out with a good cuppa in my hand.”

Eyebrows rising, I made the tea while Mrs. Wemberly gently extracted an old ribbon-wrapped stack of envelopes from the depths of her massive carpet bag.

I delivered her cup of tea exactly how she liked it and slid into the chair next to her, hoping beyond hope this would be a quick visit. I needed to talk to Gabe. Maybe I should just drive there?

I’d barely spoken to Mrs. Wemberly since Nan passed though I’d seen her walking on the street with Mrs. Mason. All having lost their husbands a decade or more ago, she, Nan, and Mrs. Mason had kept each other company for all those years.

Every love story ends with a broken heart.

But not mine. Not yet, please, not yet.

She lifted the heavy mug to her lips for a sip then closed her eyes and sighed deeply before turning her formidable attention onto me.

“I’ve been watching you.” She held up her palm. “And before you say it’s none of my business, your Nan asked me to keep an eye.” She tipped her head back and considered me for a moment. “I’ve dreamt about that woman every night this week and last night was the worst. I need to say my piece before the woman shows up and scares what little life I’ve got left clear out of me.”

No one ever really leaves.

My eyes smarted with tears. I dropped my gaze to the table.

Slowly, she tugged the ribbon and untied them. Leafing through, she chose three envelopes and pushed them toward me. “These are my most treasured possession. Read.”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” she snorted. “But do it anyway.”

Gingerly, I opened the first envelope and extracted an aged piece of notepaper and read a letter from a young man to the woman he loved, begging for a second chance. One line stood out more than any other.

‘I believe we could be so good together. Give us a chance.’

The next letter wished her a happy first anniversary.

‘Thank you for giving me the best year of my life.’

The third letter had worn thin, some words nearly erased in places where water stains smeared the ink.

My Dearest Muriel,

It feels impossible that I should have to say goodbye. How do you part from your soul? For that is what you are.

My heart.

My soul.

My very life.

But if I must leave you, know without a shadow of a doubt I leave you with all my love. I gave you my heart long ago. You’ve held it in your little hands for more than 6 decades. You never let it break.

Up until now, I could say the same.

My sweetheart, I would spare you this if I could.

I would take the pain though it would surely kill me. But you were always stronger than I was. And I trust you to continue taking care of our family, and my heart, until we meet again on the other side.

My heart, my soul, my love, all I’ve ever been, is and always has been, yours.

Harold.

I carefully set the worn and crumpled paper down on the table and dug the heels of my palms into my eyes. Sobs wracked my body as if her loss was my own.

She sat beside me, saying not a word.

In truth, what could possibly be said?

Finally, I drew in a shattered breath and watched as she carefully folded each missive, tucked them into their prospective envelopes, slotted them into place, and retied the ribbon with shaking hands. Opening her bag, she tucked them inside and stood.

I looked up at her, my breath catching in my throat with every inhale.

Holding that giant bag close to her chest she held my eyes. For just a moment, she dropped her mask and showed me the burden of grief she carried with her every day. Her eyes welled with tears then she lifted her chin defiantly.

“I. Regret. Nothing.”

Of all the things I could have asked her, there was only one thing I wanted to know. “Why? Why do you keep them in your bag? Don’t you want to preserve them?”

She patted my cheek and smiled, the first she’d ever given me. “Love was never meant to be preserved. Spend it, Shae. Spend it all.”

Long after she left, I remained sitting at the kitchen table, the bits and pieces of her letters repeating over and over in my head along with her final words.

“I. Regret. Nothing.”

Flattening the palms of my hands on the table, I pushed myself up and climbed the stairs. On my knees, I pulled the box from beneath my bed for the third time in as many weeks and lifted the lid.

Folded over the top lay the three embroidered baby blankets I’d shown Gabe. One by one, I pulled them out and this time, with no witness, I held each to my face.

They didn’t smell like baby. They didn’t smell like anything, not even the baby detergent I washed them in when my hope was still new. I folded each of them with their embroidered initials facing upward and laid them down over my lap.

Three tiny onesies came next. Never worn but worn thin from nights clutched in my hands while I wept the loss. I should have passed them on to someone else, but I couldn’t bear to part with them. I could no longer remember which one was meant for which baby.

Next, I flipped through the stack of shower invitations I never sent. Addressed to all the friends who walked away when I lost my sense of fun, they no longer held the same importance. I had new friends, now. Real friends. I set the invites to the side. These could go.

Positive pregnancy tests, two of them false, lay at the bottom of the box. I’d been loathe to let them go, not knowing which was real and which was false, but I was done with grasping at straws. I sat them on the stack of invites.

Last, encased in plastic, a single faded ultrasound picture of what looked like a bean. I cradled it in my hand, remembering the days I’d carried it in my wallet, taking it out to look at it so often it began to fade.

I’d had it laminated.

My little bean.

This, along with the hollow in my chest, was all I had left.

I stared at it the way I had back then and let the tears fall.

Once upon a time, I’d loved Gary. Those days were long past, and those feelings long dead. But echoes of my hope and loss remained.

And those kids I coveted? They carried his DNA, the same genetics that made up the children I lost. But it wasn’t his kids I wanted; it was mine I longed for.

And those children were not replaceable.

The grief I carried with me, that unspent love, lived on as a beautiful testament to the brief time I carried them inside me.

To rid myself of that grief was to forget.

And I didn’t want to forget.

But perhaps I could let go.

And step inside a new story.

I picked up the phone.