Page 22 of Follow Me
Kel couldn’t do thisforher, and that’s what he’d tried to do. She’d let him do it, too, which hadn’t helped either of them.
She started a load of laundry and had herself another cry when she held one of Kel’s dirty shirts to her face and inhaled.
If I have him come home right now, I’ll give in and let him take care of me, and the cycle starts again. I can’t do that. I’m not strong enough yet.
Once she had everything put away, and finished a couple of other chores, she knew she needed to eat dinner.
She pulled out the meal plan and started making dinner. Chicken breast, but she cooked a couple of extra breasts so she’d have them ready to go for other meals just by reheating them. Some pasta—making extra. A bag of steamed veggies done in the microwave, which again would give her leftovers. A portion of hummus and guacamole with pretzel crackers.
By the time she was ready to eat, shewasa little hungry, and she’d already created enough for tomorrow’s lunch.
She took a picture of everything and texted it on the group thread before uploading the picture to her tracking app.
A shower in her own bathroom felt…no shit,amazing. It was actually hot water that she couldfeelversus the borderline but not quite hot enough safe “hot” water at the facility.
Once she finished she pulled on one of Kel’s T-shirts and nothing else and stood in front of the full-length mirror.
I am enough.
I am more than my body.
Kel has always loved me the way I am. He fell in love with me the way I was. I am, and always have been, good enough for my Master.
My friends love me.
She dragged in a deep, shuddering breath.It’s not my fault. I did nothing wrong.
On that note, she walked out to the living room, pausing at the nursery door on her way. She still couldn’t bring herself to go in there, and it was on the list of things they’d be addressing with her as they worked through this process.
Before now, Kel had refused to push her to confront the room, because he couldn’t go in there without crying, and he struggled to not cry in front of her despite her sometimes begging for him to let go and do just that.
Setting a timeframe to deal with that, too, was already a listed goal.
She continued on to the living room, where the tiny urn sat on a shelf next to a framed picture of her last ultrasound.
They had a picture of them holding her after the nurses had cleaned her up and bundled her, one of several pics Kel’s mom had taken for them, but Mal couldn’t bear to look at that yet, either.
One of her goals was that she wanted to be able to have that picture, of the three of them together, sitting on the shelf and be able to at least look at it without it destroying her.
“Hey, sweetheart. Mommy’s home. Again.” She walked over to the urn and touched it. “Sorry I was gone for so long.” She’d asked the men today if it was weird that she talked to her baby like that, and they assured her no, it wasn’t, not under that context.
She’d be eighteen months now, probably walking, starting to talk, being a handful.
Mal never got to know what color her eyes would have been, or what color her hair would’ve become.
One more touch before she stepped away. “I need to call Daddy and talk to him. I promise I’m trying to get my act together.”
* * * *
Kel had decided if this was the new world order for now, at least he’d try to get some work done. So he’d been sitting at his desk downstairs in the office that evening, working on processing photos for a client, when his cell rang.
Mal.
His first instinct was to grab it and ask what was wrong. When she was in Tampa, he usually called her after she texted him she was in her room following a session or a meal.
But he pulled up short and thought about it for a moment before finally answering. “Hi, sweetheart.” He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair and swore to himself he wouldn’t pounce on her, or try to argue with her, or any of that.
“Are you mad at me for this?”
