Page 4 of Letters of Faith
A smile creeps onto my face for the first time all day, and I pat my hand against his chest. “Just make this one easy, okay?”
Nate’s grin is sneaky as he says, “Love is always easy.”
Chapter 2
Georgia
12 Months Ago
The phone in my hand rings once, twice, maybe more—I’ve lost count.
There are people in front of me, all vying for my attention, needing me to make decisions, but I can’t—not without him. Why can’t they all leave me alone? Shouldn’t my heartbreak warrant me some semblance of privacy?
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I shouldn’t have to do this.
Over the last year, people kept telling me to have a little faith—everything would work out if I had a little faith—and I did, but what about now? What do I do now?
I want to rage and scream and throw things—demand someone, anyone, fix this, but I can’t because I’m supposed to be the strong one—the one that people are looking at to hold myself together.
Strong.
I hate that word. I don’t want to be strong. I want to lay in bed and not move until I can breathe again because right now, there’s a crushing weight sitting on my shoulders that I’m going to crumble under. What I don’t want to do is make this phone call.
“Hello.” The voice comes across the phone, gruff and familiar, and I’m grasping onto that familiarity with both hands, like alifeline pulling me back from the sea, even as I protest at the idea of having to say it—to be the one to tell him.
A sob wracks my shoulders as I open my mouth to say the words.
Two words.
That’s all I need to say before someone else can shoulder this burden with me, but once those words are out, there’s no taking them back.
It will be real, and I’ll break someone else with them.
I can’t—I can’t do this.
“Georgia, are you there?”
I’m paralyzed. My mouth disconnected from the part of my brain that tells it to speak.
Tears run down my neck, soaking into my shirt. I need a breath—one breath, and then I’ll be able to say it. I try sitting up straighter to pull air deep into my lungs, but nothing happens.
I try again, a squeak slipping out between my lips, but the air still won’t reach my lungs. Black dots swim in front of my eyes, and fear starts to replace the paralysis. My fingers ache from clutching the phone to my ear, but I might throw it against the wall if I don’t.
A man’s voice calls my name over and over again from the phone, begging me to respond.
Someone needs to take the phone from me and just tell him.
Can they not see me struggling?
The person on the other line is yelling now, but I don’t care. I’m past the point of caring because all I can think about is how I lied to my husband.
He asked too much.
I can’t keep the promise he asked me to because I can’t even make a stupid phone call. How am I supposed to not be angry when that feeling claws at my chest, ready to burst out?
Anger replaces the fear, and enough air enters my lungs for my vision to clear just a little.
Nurses look back at me, concern flicking across their faces, but I ignore them, turning my full attention to the man who is now frantically yelling at me.
