Page 117 of Blackout-

“I’m everything and nothing at all, Blackie,” I whisper. “I spoke with Schwartz he says you’re going to have to go to rehab.”

“I’ll get him to appeal the judge’s decision. Whatever it takes to get me home to you and the baby,” he insists.

“Blackie, you have a problem, a serious problem and twenty-eight days in rehab won’t fix you,” I tell him, watching as his expression goes grim. His jaw tightens and the air around us changes. It becomes thick.

Too thick.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I can’t fix you. I’ve come to terms with it and now it’s time you do as well. If the judge sends you to rehab, I think you should go. If you want any kind of relationship with our child, youwillgo.”

“Don’t fucking do that.”

“What am I doing?”

“Don’t use our child against me.”

“I’m not,” I admonish, hurt he would even suggest the idea. “I’m looking out for our child. There’s a difference. Blackie, you have no idea how it feels to be on the receiving end of your bad decisions. You have no idea how heartbreaking it is to never feel good enough.”

“Don’t I? Why the hell do you think I’m as fucked as I am? I know I don’t deserve you.”

“No, Blackie, you think you don’t deserve me. I’ve done nothing to make you believe that and everything to convince you otherwise. Now, you survived another overdose and by the looks of it, a beating that probably should’ve killed you. God is giving you another chance to get right with yourself. Make it count. Not for me. Not for our baby, but for yourself.”

“And what happens if I don’t?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” I whisper.

This story of ours won’t end with us old and gray. It’ll end tragically with our beautiful child never knowing its father and me burying the man I love.

“You didn’t say it,” he murmurs, forcing my attention back to him.

“What?”

“You didn’t say you love me.”

I didn’t, did I? Not a single ‘I love you’. Not even a ‘Thank God, you’re okay’.

“I—”

“Don’t say it now,” he mutters, shaking his head. I watch him wince and he closes his eyes briefly before looking at me again. “How was it?”

“What?”

“Her heartbeat,” he croaks. “Is it strong? Is she healthy?”

“She’s perfect,” I whisper, swallowing against the lump in my throat. Tearing his gaze away from me, he nods and releases a strangled breath.

“You should go,” he rasps. “Keep doing what you’re doing,” he continues. “Keep taking good care of our girl. You’re going to be an amazing mother, Lacey. Fucking spectacular.”

A sob echoes off the walls of the hospital room and it takes me a second to realize it’s mine. Lifting my hand to my mouth, I stare at my husband through the cloud of tears obscuring my vision.

“And you, what are you going to do?” My voice cracks as I silently will him to look at me. Just once more. If for no other reason, then for him to see the love I neglected to speak.

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” he says.

“I guess we will,” I murmur softly.

Seconds turn to minutes and he still doesn’t look at me. We break. We shatter. The wall between us grows higher. The pain cuts deeper. It’s another heart wrenching chapter in our tragic fairy tale.

---