Hollow (Heaven Hill Generations #4) - Laramie Briscoe Page 0,17

even before I came here. I’d sit in my car, wherever I was, to avoid driving out to the home Dalton and I shared. All it did was remind me of what I lost, of that empty room that’s sitting there decorated, waiting for a baby that never came. It’s covered in darkness, the loss of hope and despair, cloudy with a haze of I don’t give a fuck. Which was exactly how I was feeling toward the end.

But at the same time, that house holds the memories of Walker as a baby, of Dalton and I as newlyweds, of happier times. Every single milestone Walker has experienced has been there, but I’m wondering if the same darkness exists there for him now, too.

Opening the bedside table, I pull out the notebook and pen I’ve been using to write letters to myself. Tonight, I have a desire to write one to Dalton. I miss him more than I ever thought possible and I think he needs to hear it.

Dalton,

I miss you.

I need you.

I love you.

I know I haven’t been the easiest to live with - ever. But you’ve never made me feel less than the woman I am, not the woman I see every time I look in the mirror. You’ve always done everything I’ve asked you to, even to the detriment of your feelings and our marriage.

This is me taking responsibility for it.

This is me telling you I realize what kind of position I’ve put you in, and I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry I’ve always cared more about myself than my family. It’s not been intentional. Never was it intentional. I just couldn’t see my way out from under the pressure and grief I’ve been under.

But you…

You’ve always been the best part of me, Dalton. Always. I can still remember the first time you told me you loved me, and every other one of our firsts after that.

I’m sorry I kept you out of how I was trying to deal with the miscarriage. I held it so close to me, like a blanket, or a shield.

I love you so much, I want our life back.

Thank you for being patient with me. Not many men would have been, but you’ve always stood head and shoulders above most everyone else, and not just because of your height - because you’re a good man.

You’re the best man.

The best husband.

The best father.

I hope I haven’t ruined what we had between us, but I’ll also understand if I have. It’s selfish to expect you to do everything I ask you to do and never have anything for yourself.

I’m learning.

I will do better.

I will be better.

Hopefully I’ll have you at my side. I haven’t taken my wedding ring off and I hope you haven’t either.

I love you, Dalton.

Please tell me we have a chance together.

Love,

Amanda

P.S. Give Walker a hug for me and tell him I love him. He has a letter coming too, along with an apology. I just needed to get yours out of my head first.

Tears are falling from my eyes, trailing down my cheeks as I finish the letter. I fully understand what I’m asking of him, and I pray he’s willing to give it to me. Maybe I don’t deserve it, but I will spend the rest of my life making him realize just how special he is.

“What do you regret most about the experience that brought you here?”

Today’s therapist is hitting us with the hard questions. Everyone has to answer when it’s their turn, and I’m already starting to feel anxious.

In my head, I can hear what we’ve been taught to do. The grounding technique is one I’ve called upon multiple times since I’ve been here.

Five things I can see. The blue, cloudless sky outside the window we’re facing, the trepidation that’s spread across all the faces of everyone in this group, the coffee pot in the back of the room (empty - how could someone not start another pot?), my feet making circles on the floor, and the person beside me wringing her hands.

Four things I can feel. The heat of the sunshine coming through the window, the hardness of the concrete beneath my feet, my nails digging into my palms, and the slight breeze from the fan they have set up in the corner

Three things I can hear. The swish of the pen in the quiet room as the therapist makes notes on her notebook paper, someone’s nails beating a rhythm against their chair, and a bird loudly making