Page 62 of The Strawberry Field
She’s not mine. Not by blood. Not by obligation. But that girl has imprinted herself into some tender, broken place inside me, and I can’t seem to close the door around it. I told Hannah she wouldn’t be alone. I meant it then. I still do. I just don’t yet know what that means.
I sit on the edge of the bed, pull up Michael’s note on my phone. His words still echo in my chest: “I don’t know what our future looks like. But I know you’re the only one I want in it.”
He believed in me.
He trusted me with his heart, his hope.
And I couldn’t save him.
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to block out the wave of doubt building behind my ribs.
What if I fail her like I failed him?
What if I promise Hannah safety, promise her a home, and I can’t follow through? What if I lose her too?
I don’t know how to mother a grieving child when I’m still grieving myself. My love feels rusted, unreliable. Like a door that doesn’t close all the way in the rain.
She deserves more than that.
She deserves someone whole.
But whole is not a word I can claim. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Still, when I looked into her eyes at the hospital… I saw something I haven’t seen in a long time.
Trust.
Tiny. Fragile. But real.
And I can’t forget the way her hand curled around mine. As if I was something steady in her storm.
I’ve wanted to feel needed again. I just didn’t expect that need to come wrapped in a pink hospital gown and eyes too old for her age.
*
THE DREAM wakes me.
I lie still, staring into the darkness, heart pounding like I’m in the middle of that climb up Smith Mountain. Sweat slicks my skin. It takes a moment to remember where I am.
I’m not in New York.
I’m here.
At the lake.
I blink up at the ceiling, sunlight still hours away. I glance at the clock—4:02 a.m.
There’s no going back to sleep.
I get up, pad to the bathroom, splash cool water on my face. Then I make my way downstairs to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee.
When it’s done, I pour a cup and carry it out onto the deck. The sky is still deep blue-black, the lake barely visible in the low light. It lies quiet and undisturbed, like a held breath.
A light mist floats across the surface, thin and curling, lifting slowly as the sky hints at dawn.
It’s peaceful out here, softer than the silence I knew in New York. That silence felt like abandonment. This one feels like invitation.
