Page 47 of From the Ashes
“Yes, yes, it's not about that. Don’t worry,” I assure him.
“I'll get you there, sweetness,” he tells me, keeping his distance, as if he knew I needed space right now. Each time I’m heading in the right direction, Ben comes back into my life and confuses me. Always one step forward and two steps back.
“Thank you.” I’m grateful Carter isn’t questioning me more, even if I hate myself for ruining our night. And just like that,we end up on his bike, my belly still empty from not eating the delicious pasta and holding Carter's sides hard, as if he were my anchor, the only one trying to protect me from the monster of my past. I want to get rid of Ben. I want to heal. I want to do this by myself, but I’m starting to wonder if I’ll be able to do it on my own. Perhaps the time has come to accept help. Perhaps that’s what has been missing all along. And as I think about this and what kind of future I could offer to my son if I learn to trust again, I hold on to Carter just a bit tighter than I should.
13
LANA
There’snothing in this world I dread more than having dinner with my ex. Even Noah isn’t that happy about it. He asked if he could keep his teddy bear all throughout dinner to make him strong like the Hulk.
My little boy.
Why can’t I pushhimaway? Am I the only survivor of abuse letting my abuser come back to me for a homemade meal? Something must be wrong with me. Broken in an irreversible way. Like a dog going back to its master after a beating. I’m damaged beyond repair. It’s a simple dinner: soup with croutons, and a side of meat. I look up at the kitchen clock, above the stove, and swallow. Almost seven.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Did your friend play with my figurines?” He’s got his PJs on and it makes him look even younger.
“Um, no, but it was sweet of you to offer, you know, sharing is a really nice thing to do, Noah. I’m proud of you.” I pat his little head as he walks past me to the dinner table.
“Kay, I was checking because no one can touch them. Only you and your nice friend.”
“Why are you saying that he’s nice?”
“Because you smile when you talk about your friend, Mommy. That’s a silly question,” he shakes his head, focused on his toys.
“Okay, just—go wash your hands, honey. Your dad will be here any minute.” Noah steps toward me, hugging his bear tight. More than usual. Like when he wakes up after having nightmares in the middle of the night.
“Why is Dad coming?”
“Because… Because he wants to spend time with us,” I say, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Don’t you want to see your dad?”
Noah stays quiet. Then, after a moment, he shakes his little head, brown curls bouncing, just like when he refuses to clean his room or finish his plate. Exactly like that. I kneel down and pull my son into a tight hug. He smells like soap and something uniquely his, something that takes me back to when he was just a baby in my arms.
The doorbell rings, slicing through our moment like a blade. I inhale deeply. Noah and I share a long, heavy look before I turn toward the door. My hand hesitates on the handle, and I catch myself wishing I didn’t have to open it. But I do. And there he is. The man who carved ruin into my life. Behind him, the sun is setting in a sky streaked with blood, too red to be pink, too dark to be orange. There’s a slaughtered quality to it, as if God ripped open the horizon to warn me. The devil is at my door. And all I can think is that I wish Carter were here.
“Hi, guys!” Ben greets, arms wide as he crouches in the entryway, expecting Noah to run into them. I don’t respond, and it doesn't go unnoticed that Noah stays glued to my side, clutching my left leg like he does with strangers. I try to step away, but Ben catches me off guard, forcing a hard kiss onto my temple. Stunned, I freeze. Noah’s grip tightens.
“C’mon, Noah, go play,” I murmur, lifeless. My mind is already spiraling back to those dark hours of my life.
“Don’t,” I whisper, barely audible. “Don’t ever do that again.” But I’m not even sure I said it out loud.
“What, babe?” Ben says loudly, then suddenly turns to Noah with forced enthusiasm. “No way, you got new figurines? That’s awesome, little man!” My hands begin to tremble. My pulse drums in my ears.Carter.He’s all I can think of. Ineedhim.
“Soup?” Ben asks casually, stripping off his jacket and draping it over a dining chair. “Nice, honey. Love it.”
I move to the sink in a daze. Turn the tap and let cold water pool in my palm. Then I press it to my temple, hoping irrationally that I can erase him from my skin.
“Lana?” His voice is getting closer. “What are you doing? Your face is all wet.”
I don’t answer. He steps in behind me, and I feel it, the slow, deliberate way he closes the distance, until his hand settles on the small of my back with a weight that feels both familiar and unbearable.
His breath ghosts along the side of my face as he leans in and murmurs, low and cold, “Get your shit together. Noah’s watching. Dry your face and sit down. I didn’t come here for a shitshow, so act accordingly.”
His hand slides down to my wrist, the one clinging to the edge of the sink, and without warning, he wraps his fingers around it and squeezes. The pressure builds until it feels like something inside me might crack, a deep and searing ache spreading up my arm. I lift my gaze and meet his eyes. And even as pain pulses beneath my skin, I say nothing. I don’t move. I don’t wince. I simply endure in silence, because that’s what I’ve learned to do.
