I can’t believe this. I lean my elbows onto my knees and drop my head into my hands. Shattering sobs overtake my body, and I’m useless to stop them. My one last hope has been crushed. Why? Why couldn’t I just have this? It was the one little thing I wanted more than anything, besides having Nate back.
I’m not stupid. The chances of me getting pregnant were miniscule, considering I had only stopped taking my birth control pill the morning Nate and I had made the decision to start a family. What were the chances? They were slim to none. Deep down I knew this, but I had hoped for a miracle.
Despair overtakes me, rushing from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. The darkness is closing back in, and I don’t have anything left. Nothing left to fight with, and nothing left to hope for.
The pain of losing something else flows through me and becomes too much, and I have to unload it. Standing, I frantically search my en-suite, not exactly sure what I’m looking for, but I know I have to find an outlet for this pain. I don’t think twice when I spot all of my perfumes and our toiletries sitting on the countertop.
One by one I throw them against the wall. With each shatter of glass and splash of perfume I slowly feel a calm moving in. I rip the towels off the rack and throw them across the room, then reaching for anything and everything I can throw and do damage with.
Looking left to right I spot nothing, and then there it is. I pick up the ceramic toilet brush holder and lean back to get as much power as possible behind my throw. I swing around and hurl the heavy holder directly into the mirror. As I bring my body around, I stumble forward after releasing, and still having my panties around my ankles, I trip and go ploughing onto the floor.
I hit the floor hard, all the sharp glass shards cutting into my body. The smell of strong perfumes linger in the air and the liquid burns my fresh wounds. I’m panting heavily and struggle to gain each breath.
I lie still on the floor as my breathing calms, the sharp pain of glass disappears and the smell of perfume vanishes. I soon realise it wasn’t calm moving in, but numbness. The numbness I had fought six weeks to overcome. I was back at square one, back to when Nate was first taken from me. I hadn’t moved forward, hadn’t made any progress, and was no closer to a future without my husband.
Closing my eyes, I pray for it to be over. I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough. I thought I was. I thought I would be okay, but I won’t.
I won’t ever be okay again.
Seven weeks later
It had been seven weeks since my breakdown. Seven weeks since my breakdown, or seven weeks of my breakdown? Because that’s where I am at. The exact same place I have been since I laid on my bathroom floor.
I’d pushed my friends and family out of my life. They tried their hardest to pull me out of it, but I was being stubborn, and I knew it.
I’ve been holed up in the house, no longer even taking my daily walks or stopping by the deli. If I ate at all, I ate what Mum and others had dropped off, or leftovers I had in the freezer from months ago.
I was surprised Mum, Dad, and Rachel still stopped by a few times a week, with the lack of reception they received from me. I would barely acknowledge them, only using grunts or nods. They persevered, but I could see how much it hurt them. I could see the toll it was taking on my parents. I wanted to snap out of it, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t find the strength to fight.
Besides Mum, Dad, Rach, and the other various people who left stuff on my porch, the only other person I heard from was Jeanie, Nate’s mum. She had never come over, but called once a week or so to… I don’t know what she called for. To talk about the business, to talk about my eating habits, to talk about redecorating the house. She actually mentioned setting me up on a date last week. I had now gone to screening my calls and ignoring her voicemail messages.
I’m lying here on the couch in Nate’s way too big sweats and oversized college sweatshirt, with my greasy hair pulled up in a messy bun and no makeup on, watching our wedding video for the millionth time. A car door slams, from what sounds like my driveway. Reaching for the remote I mute the TV and listen. When a key enters the lock I immediately sit upright and freeze. As the lock turns and the door opens I hold my breath, expecting to see…
As Saxon’s face appears in the doorway, I release a huge breath as a wracking sob leaves my body.
“Fuck,” he mutters as he makes his way to the couch. He sits next to me and immediately wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me tight against him. “I’m so sorry, Brooke. I’m so sorry.”
Trying to get words out through the crying is impossible so I just shake my head. Saxon pulls me even tighter against him and lays his cheek tightly against the top of my head.